


IlKB 








Book I'^^S 



PRESENTED BV 



,N5 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



or 

ROBERT BURNS 



With Memoir^ NoUs^ 



Amd a Complete Glossary. 



FLLUS TRA TED. 



New York 
NEW YORK PUBLISHING COMPANT, 

96 CITY HALL PLACB, 
1899. 



<:^\ 



.N3 






CONTENTS, 

ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED, 



PAGE 

AJ5BRESS to the Deil , 37 

to Edinburffh 119 

spoken by Miss Fontenelle at the theatre, Dumfiies . 181 

Adown Winding Nith 323 

Afton Water 306 

Aiken, Robert, Esq., Epitaph for 458 

Altar to Independence, Inscription for .... 187 

Altho' Thou maun never be mine 283 

Amang the Trees 371 

An' O! my Eppie 439 

And maun I still on Mary doat? , 341 

As down the Burn they took their way .... 395 

As I was wandering 396 

Auld Farmer's New-Year Salutation to his Auld Mare, 

Maggie, on giving her the accustomed rip of Com to 

hansel in the New Year , . 80 

Auld lang syne 848 

Auld Man, The 273 

Auld Rob Morris 253 

Author's earnest Cry and Prayer . , . . , 10 

Author's Farewell to his Native Country .... 339 

Bank of Flowers, On a 373 

Bank-note, Lines written on a 242 

Banks o' Doon 303 

Banks of Devon 822 

Banks of Nith ........ 299, 383 

Bannockbum 842 

Bannocks o' Barley ........ 396 

Bard's Epitaph , . , 889 

Battle of SheriiT-Muir, between the Duke of Argvle and 

the Earl of Mar \ . 851 

Beelzebub, Address of, to the President of the Highland 

Society 229 

Behold the Hour 305 

Belles of Mauchline ...,,... 380 

Bessy and her Spinnin' Wheel 299 

Big-bellied Bottle , 338 

Birks of Aberf eldy 284 

Birth of a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar circum- 
stances of Family Distress, lines on the . . 165 



vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Blacklock, Dr.jlinesto 174 

Blair, Sir James Hunter, on the Death of , . . . 213 

Blissful Day, The 293 

Blithe hae 1 been on yon Hill 325 

Blithe was She 288 

Blue-eyed Lassie, The 294 

Bluid-red Rose at Yule may blow . . , . . 419 

Bonnie Ann 315 

Bonnie Bell 307 

Bonnie Blink o' Mary's E'e 320 

Bonnie Lad that's far awa' ...... 321 

Bonnie Lesley 370 

Bonny Peggy 383 

Bonny Wee Thing 298 

Book-worms, The 239 

Bottle and Friend . .360 

Braes o' Ballochmyle 293 

Braw Lads of Galla Water ....... 399 

Brigs of Ayr, The 26 

Bruar Water, the Humble Petition of, to the Noble Duke 

of Athol 159 

Burnet, Miss, Elegy on 177 

Bums— Extempore 742 

, Miss, lines written under her Picture . . . 245 

Bushby, John, Writer in Dumfries, Epitaph on . . , 459 

By Allan Stream 263 

Caledonia 349 

Calf, The 36 

Canst thou leave me thus? 333 

Captain Grose 354 

, his Peregrinations through Scotland, collect- 
ing the Antiquities of that Kingdom . .' . . 134 

Captain's Lady, The 422 

Cardin' o't, The 462 

Carle of Kellybum braes 479 

Carles of Dysart 467 

Cessnock Banks ....,.., 351 

Charming Month of May ....... 332 

Chevalier's Lament , . . 302 

Chloris, Ah! .... , 458 

, Verses to 184, 443 

, on her Illness . . , 369 

Clarinda 339 

Clergyman, lines sent to a, whom he had offended . . 139 

Cock up your Beaver .441 

CoUier Laddie, The 493 

Come, let me take thee 328 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie 371 

Coming through the Rye 399 

Contented wi' little * 279 

Cooper o' Cuddie, The 425 

Cotter's Saturday Night 91 

Country Laird, not quite so wise as Solomon, Epitaph on a 457 

Country Lassie 300 

Court of Session — Extemoore in the ^ , . 400 



CONTENTS. IX 

PAGE 

Cratp^e-bum-wood ... 394 

Cniikshank, Miss, a very Young Lady, lines to , , 157 
Cunningliam, Mr., To . , 34'i 

Daintie Davie . . . . » . . . , 236 

Daer Lord, lines on an Interview with . , . . , 178 

Damon and Sylvia ...,.•.» 381 

Davie a Brother Poet, Epistles to 87. 167 

Dean of Faculty, The 358 

Death, Prayer on the Prospect of . , . , , . 103 

Stanzas on 103 

Song of • . . 252 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 22 

Death and Dying Words of Poor MaiKe, the Author's only 

pet Yowe 40 

Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. » , . . . 114 

Deil, Address to the ,37 

DeiPs away wi' the Exciseman ...... 324: 

Delia—an Ode 212 

Deluded Swain 266 

Despondency 93 

Denks dang o'er my Daddie 388 

Dove, John, Innkeeper, Mauchline, Epitaph on . . . 459 

Dumfries Volunteers • . 352 

Dumourier, Gen., Address to ,378 

Duncan Gray , . 255 

Dundas, Eobt., Esq., of Amiston, on the Death of . , 231 

Edinburgh, Address to . 119 

Election, The 431 

Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson . . , . .137 

on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . . , 177 

on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux .... 197 

on the Year 1788 210 

on the Death of Peg Nicholson .... 237 

Ellisland Theatre, Prologue spoken at the . . . .176 
Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's Epigrams, Epigram or 457 

Epigrams . 452 

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 87 167 

to a Young Friend 109 

to John Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard . . 121 124 

to John Rankin 132 

— to Robert Graham, Esq 142, 144 221 

to Wm, Creech 194 

to Mr. M^Adam 205 

from Esopus to Maria . . . , . , 218 

ir to Major Logan 224 

« to Hugh Parker 227 

Epitaph, The 139 

on a Friend ....,.,, 193 

on the Poet's Daughter ...... 227 

on Gabriel Richardson 227 

on Miss Jessv Lewars ...... 238 

on Holy Willie 450 

on a Country Laird 457 

-s— on Wee Johnny ....,,. 458 



X CONTENTS. 

PJLGB 

Epitaph on a celebrated Ruling Elder . . . . . 458 

for Robert Aiken, Esq. ..... 458 

for Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . . . , .458 

on my Father 458 

on John Dove 459 

on John Bushby 459 

on a Bard . . 469 

EppieM^Nab ... * 430 

An' 0! my 439 

Esopus, Epistle from, to Maria 218 

Evan Banks 274 

Excise, extemporaneous effusion on being appointed to the 455 



Faib Eliza 301 

Fall of Fyers, near Lochness, lines written with a pencil 

while standing by the 166 

Falsehood in the Kev. Dr. B.'s Looks, on hearing that there 

w^as 455 
FareweU, The .*.*.*.'.*.'.*. '220,340,406 

Farewell, thou Stream 274 

Farewell to Nancy 319 

Farev/ell to Eliza 335 

Father, Epitaph on my 459 

Fergusson, the Poet, Inscription to his Memory . . 196 

— Verses written under his Portrait . . . 211 

Fete Champetre, The 417 

First Psalm 105 

First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm .... 106 

Five Carlins, The— an Election Ballad .... 386 

Fontenelle, Miss, Address spoken by .... 181 

on Seeing her in a favourite Character . 237 

For a' that and a' that 346 

For the Sake of Somebody 308 

Forlorn, my Love 281 

Frae the Friends and Land I love 443 

Fragment 379 

Friars-Carse Hermitage, on Nith-side, lines written on . 134 

Friend's House, lines left at a 104 

Full well thou knowest 286 



Galla Water 257 

Gallant Weaver, The 345 

Galloway, Lord, on Seeing the beautiful Seat of . . 454 
lines to, on the Author being threatened 

with his resentment 454 

GaneistheDay 296 

Glencaim, James, Earl of. Lament for .... 146 

Globe Tavern, Dumfries, lines written on the Window of the 457 

Gloomy December 304 

Goblet, Inscription on a 239 

Gouden Locks of Anna 321 

Gowdie, John, of Kilmarnock, Letter to, on the publication 

of his Essays 215 

(kX¥^^ before Dinner ,.,.... 196 



CONTENTS. xi 

PAGE 

Graham, Robert, Esq., of Fintry, Epistles to . 142, 144, 221 
'■ lines to, on receiving a 

Favour 193 

Green ffrow the Rashes 336 

Gude e^en to you. Kimmer 440 

Guidwif e of Wauchope House, Answer to Verses addressed 

to the Poet bv the 197 

Guilford Good . ' 161 

Had I a Cave 274 

Had I the Wvte 401 

Hagofis, To a*^ 113 

Halloween 63 

Hamilton, Gavin, Esq., of Mauchline, a Dedication to . 114 

lines to 204 

Epitaph for 458 

Happy Trio, The 294 

Hark! the Mavis 269 

Hee Balou 402 

Henderson, CaDtain, Matthew, Elegy on . . . . 137 

Her Daddie forbad 402 

Here is the Glen 267 

Here's a Health to them that's awa 380 

Here's his Health in Water ...... 395 

Here's to thy Health, my bonnie Lass 403 

Hermit, The 392 

Heron Balads, The 429 

Hev for a Lass wi' a Tocher 283 

Hey the Dnstv Miller 404 

Highland Laddie, The 420 

Highland Lassie, The 312 

Highland Mary 342 

Highland Widow's Lament 413 

Holv Fair, The 15 

Holy Wime's Prayer 448 

Epitaph on 45(? 

How cruel are the Parents 279 

How Lang and Dreary 271 

Husband, Husband, cease your Strife 265 

" I BOiy . I bum " 244 

I do confess thou art sae fair 318 

I dream \1 1 lay where Flowers were springing . . , 315 

I love my Jean 292 

I see a Form, I see a Face 280 

m aye ca' in bv von Town 359 

ril Kiss ihee yet ^ 360 

Impromptu on Mrs. Riddles' Birthday 189 

" In vain would Prudence " 243 

Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth, lines "s\'ritten with a pencil over 

the Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the . . . 164 
Inscription for an Altar to Independence, at Kerroughtry 187 
Inventory, The; lq answer to the usual Mandate sent by a 
Surveyor of the Taxes, requiring a Return of the Num- 
ber of Horses. Servants, Carriages, d:c., kept - . 168 



oi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Invitation, extempore Answer to an 436 

It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie Face 407 

Jamie, come, try me 407 

Jessie 259 

Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kiss 313 

John Anderson, my Jo 295 

John Barieveorn 331 

Jolly Beggars 71 

Joyful Widower, The 405 

KATHARi^fE Jaffrat 437 

Kemble, Mrs., lines YrTitten and presented to . . . 456 

Ken mures, on and awa 411 

Kennedy, Mrs. John, lines to 230 

King's Arm3 Tavern, Dumfries, lines written on a Window 

at the . 457 

Kirk of Lamington, The. '.*.*.*.'.*.'. 239 

Kirk's Alarm 238 

Lady, lines to a, with a present of a pair of drinking-glasses 207 

Lady Marv Ann 412 

LadyOnlie 395 

Lady's Bonnpc at Church, lines on a 118 

Lady's Pocket-book, lines written extempore in a . . 452 

Lament, The 91 

written at a time when the Poet was about to leave 

Scotland 211 

of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the approach of Spring 140 

for James, Earl of Glencaim .... 146 

Landlady, count the Lamn 408 

Lapdog,*^named Echo, on the Death of a . . . . 232 

Lapraik, John, Epistles to « 121, 124 

Lines to 199 

Lass o' Baliochmyle 251 

Lass of Ecclefeehan 400 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks 272 

Last Mav a Braw Wooer 282 

Lazy Mist, The 289 

League and Covenant, The 238 

Let "not Woman e'er complain 329 

Lewars, Miss Jessy, of Dumfries, lines to, with books which 

the Bard presented her 189 

Verses on ....*... . 238 

Epitaph on 238 

' on the recovery of 238 

Liberty — a Fragment 196 

Life, Poem on, addressed to Col. de Peyster, Dumfries . 192 

Lincluden Abbey, To the Ruins of 247 

Logan, Miss, lines to, with Beattie's Poems, as a New Year's 

Gift 109 

iSIajor, Epistle to . . . ... 224 

Logan Braes 260 

Lord Gregory , . 257 

Louis, what reck I by thee? ..,,.. 307 



CONTENTS, xiii 

PAGE 

Lovely Davies 410 

Lovely Lass of Inverness . 309 

Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress .... 272 

M^Adam, Mr., of Craigen-Gillan, Epistle to . . . 205 
M'Leod, John, Esq., lines on reading in a Newspaper the 

Death of 158 

M^Math, Rev. John, Lines to the 201 

M^Murdo, John, Esq., Lines to 232 

MTherson's Farewell 357 

Mailie, Poor, Death and Dying Words of ... . 40 

Man was made to mourn 100 

Mark yonder Pomp 279 

Mary, Queen of Scots, Lament of 140 

Mary, Prayer for 362 

Lines to 377 

Mary in Heaven, lines to 376 

Mary, hae I been teething a Heckle 414 

Mary Morrison 366 

Master of the House, where Bums had been hospitably en- 
tertained — a verse composed and repeated to the . 196 
Maxwell, Dr., lines to, on Miss Jessy Sfaig's Recovery , 245 

Meg o' the Mill 259 

Miss C , lines to 239 

Mitchell, Mr., Collector of Excise, Dumfries, Poem ad- 
dressed to 190 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice . . . 187 

Montgomery's Peggy 373 

Mother's Lament lor the Death of her Son . . . 370 

Mountain Daisy, To a 107 

Mouse, To a, on turning her up in her Nest with the Plough, 

November, 1785 83 

Musing on the Roaring Ocean 287 

My ain kind Dearie! O 253 

MyChloris .328 

My Father was a Farmer 368 

My Harry was a Gallant gay 390 

My Heart was ance 407 

My Heart's in the Highlands ...... 316 

MyHoggie 428 

My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't 381 

My Love she's but a Lassie yet 409 

My Nannie's awa' . . . 275 

My Nannie, O 335 

My Tocher's the Jewel 163 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 254 

Naebodt 254 

New-year Day— a Sketch 185 

Ninetieth Psalm, first six Verses of the .... 106 

Nithsdale's Welcome hame 421 

Now Western Winds 337 

O ATE my Wife she dang me 382 

O Bonnie was yon rosy Brier 280 

" O can ye labour lea '' 250 



xiv CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

O for ane-an-twenty, Tarn! . . . . . . . 298 

O guid Ale comes 384 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet 273 

O lay thy Loof in mine, Lass 383 

O leave Novels * . . 377 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sv/eet 415 

O May thy Mora 308 

O once I lov'd a Bonnie Lass 856 

OPhilly S:^ 

OPoortith 256 

O raging Fortune's withering Blast 374 

O saw ye my Dear? 327 

O steer her up 416 

O that I hjid ne'er been married 441 

O wat ye v.ae that lo'es me 441 

O were I on Parnassus' Hill 293 

O were my Love yon Lilac fair 825 

O wert thou in the Cauld Blast ? 312 

O wha is 8he that lo'es me ? 353 

O what ye wha's in yon Tov/n ? 310 

O whare*^ did ye get ? . . • 416 

O why the Deuce -384 

Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald . . . 135 

Odes to Delia 212 

On the Seas and far away 268 

One night as I did wander 378 

Open the Door to me, ohi 258 

Ordination, The 32 

Oswald, Mrs., Ode to the Memory of 135 

Our Thrissles flourished fresh and fair .... 397 

Out over the Forth 321 

Owl, To the 245 

Parkek, Hugh, Epistle to 227 

Pastoral Poetry, Poem on 182 

Peg Nicholson, Elegy on the Death of 237 

Peg-a-Eamsey • . 398 

Peggy's Charms 218, 314 

Phmis the Fair 202 

Ploughman, The 426 

Poem written to a Gentleman who had sent him a News- 
paper, and o:ffered to continue it free of expense . 177 
Poems, verses vvTitten on the Blank Leaf of his last Edition, ' 
presented to the Lady whom he had often celebrated 

under the name of Chloris 184 

Poet's Daughter, Epitaph on the 227 

Poet's Welcome to his illegitimate Child .... 214 

Polly Stewart 385 

Posie, The 302 

Postscript 180 

Poverty 466 

Prayer'^on the Prospect of Death 1C3 

TiU'lcr the Pressure of violent Angniish . . . 105 



lor ivj. 



f .-TT 



Proloo:ue spoken at the Theatre, EUisland .... 176 

^— for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night . . • 209 

■ bpoken by Mr. Woods 240 



CONTEiVTS, 



XY 



PAGE 

Rankinb, John, Epistle to, enclosing some Poems . 132 

Verses addressed to . . . , 453, 455 

Ranting Dog the Daddie o't , 317 

RattUn^JRoarin' Willie 415 

Raving Winds around her blowing 287 

Remorse 242 

Richai'dson, Gabriel, Epitaph on 227 

Riddel, Captain, Glenriddel, lines to 206. 

Mrs. , Impromptu on her Birthday .... 189 

Robert, Sonnet on the Death of .... 188^ 

^lines on 240 

Rights of Woman, The 180 

Rigs o' Barley 385 

Robin Shui'e in Hairst 385 

Rosebud, A, by my Early Walk 289 

iRuin, To 108 

Ruisseaux, Robert, Elegy on the death of . . • 197 

Ruling Elder, Epitaph on a celebrated one .... 458 

Sab far awa' 416 

Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch-turit .... 451 

Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire, on a . , 456 

Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies, lines on a . , 111 

Scotch Drink 7 

Scroggam 442 

Selkirk Grace, The 287 

Sensibility, lines on 373. 

Shade of Thomson, Address to the, on Crowning his Bust 

at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with Baj's .... 157 

She savs she lo'es me best of a' 270 

She's Fair and Fause 302 

Sherifl-Muir, Battle of 351 

Sick Child, On a 245 

Simmer's a pleasant Time 419 

Simpson, William, lines to 127 

Sketch • 172, 208 

, New-year's Day 185 

Smellie, Mr. WiUiam, Extempore lines on . . . . 187 

Smith, James, lines to 43 

Sodger's Return, The 366 

Song, an excellent new one 433 

Ah, Chloris 436 

Songs, Collection of . . . .251, et seq., 266, 277, 346 

Sonnet on the death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel 188 

on hearing a Thrush sing in a Morning Walk . . 190 

Stanzas on the Prospect of Death 103 

Stay, my Charmer .... .... 285 

Strathallan's Lament 286 

Streams that glide 324 

Suicide, lines on a 220 

Sutherland, Mr., Prologue for his Benefit Night, Dumfries 209 

Sweet fa's the Eve 275 

Sweetest May 378 

Syme, Mr., Extempore lines to, on refusing to dine with 
him, after having been promised the first of Company 

and the first of Cooking 189 

' lines to, with a Present of a dozen of Porter . 190 



Xvi CONTENTS. 

Tailor, The 432 

Tait, James, of Genconner, Letter to 216 

Tarn the Chapman 245 

TamGlen .295 

TamO'Shanter 149 

Tarn Samson's Elegy .60 

Taylor, John, lines to 241 

Tears! shed .443 

Terraughty, Lines to, on his Birthday .... 206 

Thenil Menzie's Bonnie Mary 405 

There was a Lass 261, 425 

There was a Bonnie Lass 391 

There was a Lad 365 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie comes hame . . . 364 

There's nothing like the Honest Nappy .... 247 

There's a Youth in the City 317 

There's News, Lasses 443 

Tho' Cruel Fate 814 

Thomson, Address to the Shade of 157 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 327 

"Though Fickle Fortune" 244 

Thrush, Sonnet on hearing one sing 190 

Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 291 

Tibbie Dunbar 392 

Tither Mom, The 422 

To 243 

To a ^ on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church . 118 

Toast, A 453 

Toast, The 238 

Tombstone, Inscription on the, erected by Burns to the 

Memory of Fergusson 196 

Toothache, Address to the 163 

Tragic Fragment 249 

Twa Dogs, The 1 

Twa Herds, The 445 

'Twas na her bonny blue E'e 278 

Tytler, Mr. William, Poetical Address to, with the Present 

of the Bard's Picture 184 

Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous, Address to the . 58 

Union, The 390 

Up in the Morning early 314 

Verses written on the blank leaf of a copy of his first edition 214 

Vision, A 311 

Vision, The 51 

Vowels, The 207 

Wandering Willie 260 

"Was e'er Puir Poet" 246 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 427 

Wee Johnny, Epitaph on ....*. . 458 

Wee Willie 392 

WTia is that at my Bower Door .... . . 319 

What can a Young Lassie do wi' an Auld Man? . . 297 

When Guilford Good, our Pilot, stood .... 161 



CONTENTS. xvU 

PAGE 

When first I came to Stuart Ryle 372 

When I think on those happy Days . . . . . 438 

Where ai-e the Joys'? 326 

Where hac ye been? • 428 

Whistle, The ... • 170 

Whistle, and 1*11 come to you, my Lad .... 264 

Whistle owre the lave o't 355 

Whiteford, Sir John, Bart., lines sent to, with the '•'■ Lament 

for James Earl of Glencau'n" 148 

Why, why tell thy Lover? 349 

Willie Chalmers 240 

Willie's Wife 805 

Wilt Thou be my Dearie 267 

Winter 95 

Winter it is past 379 

Winter Night, A 85 

Women's Minds 375 

Woodlark, Address to the 278 

W^ounded Hare limping by me, which a fellow had just 

shot at, lines on seeing 156 

Ye Jacobites by Name 435 

Ye Sons of Old Killie .434 

Young Friend, Epistle to a 109 

Toung Island Rover 285 

Young Jockey 357 

Young Lady,* Verses to a, with a Present of Songs . . 181 

Young Peggy 363 

Glossart , • ; . 4*1 



ifbitatiott 0f t|e BtmxH €iii\im at |0fins. 

TO THE 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF THB 

CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



My Lords and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest 
ambition is to sing in hfs Country's service — where shall he so 
properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of his 
native Land, — those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues 
of their Ancestors? The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, 
as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha— at the plough; and 
threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the 
loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native 
soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she 
inspired. — She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis 
of Caledonia, and lay my Song under your honoured protection: 
I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach 
you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, 
to thani: you for past favours ; that path is so hackneyed by 
prostituted learning, that nonest i-usticity is ashamed of it. Nor 
do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, 
looking for a continuation of those favours : I was bred to the 
Plough, and am independent. I come to claim the common 
Scottish name with you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell 
the world that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate my 
country, that the Wood of her ancient heroes still runs uncon- 
taminated ; and that from your courage, knowledge, and public 
spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and liberty. In the 
last place, I come to proiier my warmest wishes to the Great 
Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your 
welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and 
favourite*^ amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be 
of your party ; and may Social Joy await your return. When 
harassed in courts or\iamps with the jostlings of bad men and 
bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth 
attend your return to your native Seats ; and may Domestic 
Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates I 
May corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance, and 
may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, 
equally find you an inexorable foe ! 

I have the honoui* to be, 
With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh^ April 4, 1787. 



ROBERT BURNS. 



Robert Burns was born January 25th, 1759, the 
eldest child of William and Agnes Burns, or Burness, as 
they were accustomed to spell the name. His father, 
bailiff and gardener of a country gentleman, Mr. Fergu» 
son, rented a few acres of land, on which he had built a 
small hovel of clay and straw. It stood by the roadside, 
a Scotch mile and a half from the town of Ayr, and near 
the famous Alio way Kirk. Robert was sent to school 
before his sixth year, and soon found a zealous instructor 
in John Murdoch, who was chosen, a few months after- 
wards, to replace the former teacher. We are told by 
Gilbert Burns, that his brother greatly beneiitted by the 
lessons in grammar, and became ** remarkable for the 
fluency and correctness of his expressions. " He read the 
few books that came in his way with much pleasure and 
improvement. Murdoch's library was not rich, but it 
contained a **Life of Hannibal," which gave to the ideas 
of Burns such a military turn that he used to strut up 
and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and 
wish himself tall enough to be a soldier. The warlike 
ardour was heightened, when, later in youth, he borrowed 
the story of Wallace from the blacksmith, and walked 
half-a-dozen miles, on a summer day, ^ ' to pay his respects 
to Leglen Wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as 
ever pilgrim did to Loretto." 

Burns tells us, in his delightful '* Confessions" — **In 
my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 



XX BURNS. 

old woman who resided in the family, remarkable fo! 
her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I 
suppose, the largest collection in the country of talef 
and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead- 
lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted 
towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated 
th«> latent seeds of poetry; but had so strong an effect 
Dn nay imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal 
rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious 
places; and though nobody can be more sceptical than I 
am in such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philos 
ophy to shake off these idle terrors." 

When the period drew nigh that the boy, in his own 
strong words, must have marched off to be one of the little 
underlings about a farm-house, William Burns ventured 
upon a speculation, v\ hich, he hoped, miglit enable him to 
keep his children at home longer. His employer had a 
farm. Mount Oliphant, comprising eighty or ninety Eng- 
iish acres, and he accepted William Burns as the tenant, 
at a rent, for the first six years, of forty pounds; more* 
over, he assisted him with money to provide the necessarj 
stock. The family went to their new abode, Whitsimtide, 
1766. William Burns was a well-informed and thoughtful 
man, and turned the lonely life of his cliildren to good 
account. In the winter evenings he taught arithmetic and 
geography to the boys, and procured from a book society 
in Ayr, the works of Derham and Ray u2)on the Wisdom 
and Power of God. 

Between his thirteenth and fourteenth years, the poet's 
handwriting was much improved by a few lessons in the 
parish school of Dalrymple; and about the same time **a 
bookish acquaintance •' of their father obtained for the 
brothers **a reading of two volumes of Richardson's 
' Pamela ; ' " and Murdoch, then the teacher of English in 
Ayr, sent the works of Pope. Gilbert writes: — *'The 
glimmer after we had been at Dalrymple school, my father 



BURNS. xxl 

sent Hobert to Ayr to revise his English grammar with 
his former teacher. He had been there only jne week, 
when he was obliged to return, to assist at the harvest. 
When the harvest was over he went back to school, where 
he remained two weeks ; and this completes the account 
of his school education, except one grammar quarter some 
(tune afterwards, that he attended the parish school of 
Kirk Oswald (where he lived with a brother of my 
mother) to learn surveying." Murdoch happened to be 
learning French, and he generously imparted liis knowl- 
edge to his pupil, who entered on the study with such 
zeal, that in the second week he assaulted ** Telemachus." 
**But now," in the swelling language of the pedagogue, 
"the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and 
Robert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing scenes 
that surrounded the grotto of Calypso." He took back 
with him a French grammar, and the beautiful tale of 
Fenelon ; and, in a little time, by the help of these books, 
he was able to read and understand any French authors 
who fell in his way. An attack upon Latin was not 
equally successful; his perseverance seldom outlasting 
a week, and the study being regarded as a sort of penance, 
or refuge in ill-humour. He used it for a cold -bath. This, 
writes the Flttrick Shepherd with pleasant conndence, is 
exceedingly good, and rates the Latin much as I have 
always estimated it. English literature, liowever, retained 
its full charm, and the love was nurtured by the kindness 
of a widow lady, Mrs. Paterson, who lent Pope's trans- 
lation of Homer, and the *' Spectator," to the youthful 
student. 

Mount Oliphant wanted every gleam to cheer it. The 
parish contained no fann so intractable ; the soil being 
almost the poorest to be found under the ])lough. On the 
part of the family, no effort was wanting. Every member 
of it taxed his strength to the utmost. Robert was the 
principal labourer, Gilbert driving the plouo-i, and help- 
ing him to thresh the com. The food of the hermit was 



xxii BURNS. 

indoors, as well as the gloom,butcher's meat being quite 
unknown. 

At the end of six years, William Burns endeavoured to 
find a farm of happier promise, but he sought it in vain, 
and, continuing his anxious toils through five years, he 
removed, Whitsuntide, 1777, to the larger farm of Lochlea, 
in the parish of Tarbolton. There the first four years 
passed in comfort, until the want of a written agreement 
involved the landlord and the tenant in legal disputes; 
and during the long period of three years, William Burns 
was '* tossing and whirling in the vortex." 

The little chapter of Lochlea includes some important 
passages in the story of Burns; for there his good and 
bad blossoms began to set with large promise of fruit. 
Although he confesses himself to have been the mos^ 
ungainly lad in the parish, his mind was growing into 
shape. He was familiar with the ^'Spectator," and he 
carried a collection of songs in all his field-work, poring 
over them as he drove his cart. Slowly, too, the out- 
ward man improved, and a spreading rumour of his 
** book-knowledge " made him a welcome guest. 

In an evil hour Burns turned flaxdresser, in the small 
town of Irvine, where he rented a room at a shilling a 
week. His health and his spirits seem to have been much 
disordered at this time. He speaks of his sleep as a little 
sounder, although the weakness of his nerves troubled 
his whole body at the least anxiety and alarm. He 
despairs of making a figure in the world ; * * being neither 
formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the 
gay;" and when he '* glimmered" a little into the future, 
the only prospect was poverty and contempt. In the 
midst of these doubts and fears, the flax business was 
brought to a sudden close ; for while he was giving a 
welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took fire, and 
Burns found himself among the ashes, and, like a true 
poet, without a sixpence. His moral loss at Ayr had, 
probably, been larger than his commercial; for in a young 



BURN'S. xiiii 

man, whom an American privateer had lately stripped and 
set ashore, he met a companion and a tempter whose practice 
appears to have kept up wiih his theory. Meanwhile, 
blacker shadows gathered round the homestead of Loch- 
lea. For two years the strength of the old man had been 
going, and just as the hon-ors of a jail were full in view, 
a consumption ''kindly stepped in-' and carried him 
away, February 13, 1784. Robert and Gilbert had made 
some preparation for the support of the family, when their 
father's affairs drew near a crisis, by taking a neighbour- 
ing farm, Mossgiel, which was held in tack, of the Earl 
of Loudon, by that Mr. Gavin Hamilton whose name is 
lastingly united to the poet's. The farm contained one 
hundred and eighteen acres, and the rent was fixed at 
ninety pounds. We learn the particulars from 
ailbert :— 

*' It was stocked by the property and individual savings 
of the whole family, and was a joint concern among us. 
Every member of the family was allowed ordinary wages 
for the labour he performed on the farm. My brother's 
allowance and mine was seven pounds per annum each. 
And during the whole time this family concern lasted, 
which was four years, as well as during the preceding 
period at Lochlea, his expenses never in any one year 
exceeded his slender income. His temperance and 
frugality were everything that could be wished." But 
darker scenes were coming. 

There lived in Mauchline a master stone-mason, James 
Armour, who had a black- eyed daughter, Jean, ranking 
high among the six helles of the village. It fell out on 
a certain day, that the poet's dog ran over the clothes 
which Jean Aimour was spreading on the grass, and she 
flung a stop At the trespasser. The old proverb rose to 
the tongr . of Burns, and the love-story began. It fills a 
melancholy page in the lives of the man and the woman. 
They sinned, and they suffered. A meeting of the lovers 
ended in a gift by Burns to Jean of a written promise, 



xxiTT BURNS. 

which Scottish law accepts as legal evidence of an * irre- 
gular " union. The marriage was not to be disclosed until 
the last moment, and when it came, the stone-mason 
showed himself less indulgent than the law. His indig- 
nation was great; and overpowered by the anger an(i 
grief of her father, Jean destroyed the document, oi 
permitted him to burn it. James Armour proved to be 
violent and relentless, with a view, it is conjectured, ol 
driving Barns from the country, and setting his daughter 
free. If he had the design, it was almost fulfilled. 
Several Scotchmen were at that time engaged as assistant 
overseers in the West India Plantations. The salary wa& 
small, and the disagreeable nature of the occupation may 
be imagined. But it offered shelter to Burns, and he 
obtained an appointment in Jamaica, engaging himself 
to Dr. Douglas, of Port Antonio, for three years, at a 
salary of thirty pounds. To pay for his par.sage, he 
resolved to publish his *' Poems." They had grown up, 
silently and sweetly, like the wild-flowers in the fields. 
The Daisy under the Plough — the Mouse driven from her 
nest — the Winter-dirge — the Cotter's Saturday Night — 
The Vision — and other pieces, seemed to steal upon his 
fancy, in its warm spring weather, with the bloom and 
freshness of opening life. The Muse had vv^alked by his 
plough, and cheered and illuminated him. Even the 
coal-cart v/as sometimes hallowed by song. Lochlea is 
rich in these poetic remembrances, but Mossgiel excels it. 
Lately, perhaps now, you might see the '4ngle," and the 
^*spence," with its boarded-floor, and the recess-beds so 
common in Scotland, where he composed some of his 
most pathetic and humorous pieces. A small deal table 
was also pointed out. At the beginning of April, 1786, 
Burns sent his ' ' Proposals " to the press of John Wilson, 
in Kilmarnock. In the meantime, he underwent a less 
agreeable form of publication in the parish kirk, by the 
tongue of Mr, Auld. A certificate of Bachelordom was 
the reward of the exposure. On June 12th, he communi- 



BUI?NS. xx> 

cated to a Glasgow acquaintance the news of his literary 
progress: — *^You will have heard that I am going to 
commence poet in print ; to-morrow my works go to the 
press. I expect it will be a volume of about two hundred 
pages. It is just the last foolish action. I intend to do, 
and then turn a wise man as fast as possible." 

The ** Poems" appeared in July, 1786, at the price ol 
three shillings. **The Cotter's Saturday Night" was the 
gem of the collection, and did for the writer what the 
* * Elegy " had done for Gray — it made him famous. When 
Gilpin, in 1789, published his ^* Observations on th« 
Highlands," he described the pleasing simplicity of 
country life, the small Erse Bible which was the High* 
lander's usual companion, the mother spinning or knitting, 
and the children standing round her reading God's Book, 
or repeating the '* Catechism ;" and by way of illustrating 
his description, he quoted the poem of Burns — **a Bard, 
as he calls himself, from the plough," — and pronounced 
**the whole to be equal to any praise." 

The edition of the ''Poems" was exhausted in a month 
by the subscribers and the public. Wherever the book 
came, it was admired. Anew issue of his "Poems" was 
now suggested to him, as likely to increase the comforts 
of his voyage ; but the Kilmarnock printer required the 
cost of the paper to be advanced, and Burns had no 
money for the purpose, though friends were not imwilling 
to provide it. 

The following circumstance rendered pecuniary help 
unnecessary. Burns was acquainted vrith Dr. Laurie, 
minister of Loudoun, and that gentleman sent a copy oi 
the ' * Poems " to Dr. Blacklock, with a slight outline oi 
the Poet's life. The amiable scholar was delighted by 
the pathos, the grace, and the humour of the volume, and 
strongly urged the immediate preparation of an enlarged 
impression. The pleasure of the Poet was equal to hia 
critic's ; and he exchanged the voyage to Jamaica for the 
road to Edinburgh. He arrived in that city November 



iivi BURNS. 

28, 1786. Dugald Stewart had already awakened soma 
interest in his behalf by reading his poems, and speaking 
of his struggles, to several friends, and to Henry 
Mackenzie among the number. 

At the beginning of April, 1787, the second edition ol 
his poems issued from the shop of Creech. Lord Glen- 
cairn and the Dean of the Faculty had taken him under 
their wing, and the Caledonian Hunt subscribed in a 
body. 

He had long cherished the desire of making leisurely 
pilgrimages to the battle-fields, the romantic rivers, and 
the ruined castles of his country; and his longing was at 
last in some measure to be gratified in the season most 
dear to his fancy — 

When rosy May comes in wi* flowers. 

On the 6th of that month, having one companion, Mr. 
Robert Ainslie, he made a hasty excursion into th»; 
southern districts, in which Beattie discovered the 
Arcadia of Scotland, being distinguished by green hills, 
clear flowing stveams, scattered or clustering trees, and 
especially by its songs, ** sweetly expressive of love and 
tenderness, and the other emotions suited to the tran- 
quillity of pastoral life.'' 

In three weeks. Burns visited the most interesting 
scenes. At Jedburgh, where orchards and gardens were 
mingled with the ruins of a stately cathedral, he received 
the freedom of the borough ; the glorious Melrose and the 
old abbey of Dryburgh affected him greatly, and he cait 
ried away in his memory the sound j nd the colour of 

Ettrick banks now roaring red 

From Arcadia, he passed into Northumberland, and 
visited the noble castle of the duke, and the hermitage oJt 
Warkworth. 

Burns returned to Mossgiel in June. (8th,) 1787, and 
his biographers have noticed the affecting circumstances 
under which he revisited his home. Several months wen 



BURNS. xxvU 

gone since he quitted it, a poor and desperate man ; he 
came back enriched and honoured; and, in the affec- 
tionate welcome of his kindred, he might discover a 
recompence for the glare and the flattery which he had 
left. He did not, however, long continue under the old 
roof, but made a fresh expedition into the Highlands, 
and rejoined his family in July. August found him 
again in Edinburgh, arranging a third tour with Mr. 
Adair, of Harrowgate. 

He had no sooner ended his third pilgrimage, than he 
began another, and a more exten^ve, in the company of 
his friend Mr. Nicol. The travellers, leaving Edinburgh, 
August 25, 1787, pursued their way into the heart of the 
Highlands, and, stretching northward, about ten miles 
beyond Inverness, took an easterly course over the island, 
and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edin* 
kirgh. 

Bums was again in Edinburgh during the winter of 

1787. He is then supposed to have begun his acquaintance 
with the lady whom he celebrated under the title of 
Clarinda. Her real name was M'Lchose the wife of a 
gentleman in the West Indies, and then residing with her 
children in Edinburgh. The letters which Burns addressed 
to her, in the pastoral character of Sylvander, are sufli- 
ciently amorous and absurd ; but a devotee, like Clarinda, 
required no common homage. She declared that the 
admiration of fourscore years would not pay her debt of 
gratitude. 

The settlement of his accounts with Creech, February, 

1788, placed more than five hundred pounds in the hands 
of Burns. He made a noble use of part of the money. 

Hi3 own account to Dr. Moore — January 4, 1789 — ia 
simple and pleasing: "I have a younger brother, who 
supports my aged mother ; another still younger brother 
and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from 
Edinburgh, it cost me about £180 to save them from ruin. 
Not that I have lost so much — I only interposed between 



xxviii BURN5. 

my brother and hi8 impending fate by tbe loan of so much. 
1 give myself no airs on this, lor it was mere selfisnness on 
my part. I was conscious that the wrong scale of the 
balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought that 
throwing a little filial and fraternal affection into the scale 
in my favor, might help to smooth matters at the grcmd 
reckoning y With the balance of his profits he entered 
upon a farm, belonging to Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton. 
Ellisland was pleasantly situated on the banks of the Nith, 
six miles from Dumfries. The vale of the Nith sweeps 
just below the house, and from the windows the river is 
seen liowing with its swift, dark current, broad as tne 
Thames at Hampton Court. Burns began his new life at 
Whitsuntide, 1788, having previously gone through the 
ceremony of a justice-of -peace marriage with Jean Armour, 
in the office of his friend Gavin Hamilton. He considered 
the head of a wife to be immaterial, in comparison of hei 
heart. He spoke from experience. His Jean had a hand- 
some figure, a sweet temper, and reckoned her husband 
the finest genius in the world. Her acquaintance with 
prose and verse was limited to the Bible and the Psalms; 
but she had studied a certain collection of Scottish songs, 
and warbled many with a delicious wood-note. In latei 
life, the Ettrick Shepherd frequently saw Mrs. Burns, in 
the old church of Dumfries, and spoke of her as a brunette, 
with fine eyes. 

A modern poet has said finely: — 

And there were many strange and sudden lights 
Beckoned him towards them ; they were wrecking lights *. 
But he shunned these, and righted when she rose, 
Moon of his Ufe, that ebbed and flowed with her I 

Alas! that we cannot apply the words to Burns. Hia 
wedded life met with difilculties at the beginning. The 
house of Ellisland was a miserable hovel, open to wind 
and rain, and giving to the occupant the choice of being 
drenched or suffocated. Jean could not come under such 
a roof, and she remained with the poet's family. But 



BURNS. xxix 

forty miles make a wide gap between husband and wife. 
Burns set himself with all speed to build a better dwel- 
ling, and the summer foimd him busy in the field. He 
brought Jean home in November, and for the first time 
in his life had the opportunity of realising his own 

picture : — 

To make a happy fire-side clime, 

To weans and wife — 
That's the true pathos, and sublime 

Of human life. 

But low spirits dulled his joys. He calls himself such a 
coward in the world, and so tired of the service, that the 
desire of his heart was ^ ^ to lie down in his mother's lap 
and be at peace." We hear him groaning under the 
miseries of a diseased nervous system, and of headaches 
three weeks in duration. 

It was not always dark in Ellisland. His first winter 
glided happily by, and golden days of the heart and the 
fancy often shone, when the father rejoiced in the crown 
of the poet. In this farm, by the river side, he composed 
his noblest lyric, '^To Mary in Heaven;" and there, too, 
the fat and festive Grose came to visit him, and heard oi 
the wonderful jump of Cutty Sark and the magnificent 
terrors of Tam. 

Burns had made a bad choice of a farm ; but a momen- 
tary sunlight broke over it, and the crops rewarded his 
industry and care. An agricultural friend once warned 
him that however situation, soil, and custom might vary, 
Farmer Attention would be prosperous everywhere. And 
it is conceivable that even from Ellisland he might have 
come in joy, bringing sheaves. But Farmer Attention 
was a stranger under that roof — more familiar to the 
wedding feast and the harvest dance. The appointment 
of Buins to the Excise came, to complete the ruin of th« 
husbandman. He owed it to the kindness of a surgeon 
(Mr. Wood), who got his name placed on the list of can- 
didates. 

Before the close of 17dl, Burns relinquished his farm, 



and being placed, with a salary of seventy pounds, in the 
Dumfries department of Excise, he removed his family to 
that town. 

The biographers of Burns concur in putting his Dum- 
fries life into shadow. " I am just risen," are his own sad 
words — ''from a two-hours' bout after supper, with silly, 
or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with 
me but the port." x^mong companions like these he had 
long been m the habit — to adopt his striking phrase — of 
ijiividing large slices of his constitution; but the biggest 
Alices w^ere given at Dumfries. Many families from the 
south of Scotland chose that town for theu* winter resi- 
dence ; and we are told that it abounded in ' ' stately Tory- 
ism," which only served to embitter and aggravate the 
hostility of the Poet. The freedom of his manners was, at 
least, equalled by that of his tongue, and his epigrams fell 
thick and fast. One critic is sharp upon the ^'gentry," 
because tliey "cut" Burns. The " cutting " is certain. 
A friend informed Mr. Lockhart, that upon a fine summer 
evening he saw the poet walking alone on the shady side 
of the principal street, while the opposite part was gay 
with successive groups of gentlemen and ladies, all drawn 
together for the festivities of the night, not one of whom 
appeared vrilling to recognise him. Assuredly he gave 
ample opportunity to evil-speakers. 

The glimpses which the poet gives of himself are in 
the highest degree mournful : Regret — Remorse — Shame, 
dog his steps and bay at his heels ; he apologises to a 
lady for some festive ill-behaviour, by writing a letter 
"from the dead:" his helpless little folks drive sleep 
from his pillow ; his old friends would not know him. 
With every month the nerv^ous misery increases; and hi3 
feelings, at times, are only to be envied by "a reprobate 
spirit listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition." 
Except in the letters of Cowper, I remember no self- 
upbraidings more dreadful or pathetic. The storm 
deepened. He had hardly buried liis sweet little girl, 



BURNS. xxxi 

when a rheumatic fever of the severest kind bound him 
to his bed. All these things were against him. To 
James Johnson he wrote:— '^ This protracting, slow, 
consuming illness which hangs over me will, I doubt 
much, arrest my sun before he has well reached his 
middle career, and will turn over the poet to far more 
important concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit or 
the pathos of sentiment. However, hope is the cordial of 
the human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as well as 
I can." The new year found him making feeble efforts 
to crawl across his room. But no suffering could teach 
prudence to Burns. The firstfruits of his strength were 
given to a tavern dinner, prolonged into the late morning. 
Returning home, he sunk on the snow and slept. The 
old enemy came in his sleep, and he awoke with the 
torments of rheumatism, renewed and sharpened. Pale, 
emaciated, and wanting a hand to help him from his chair, 
he complained of *' spirits fled — fled!" One faint hope 
remained — it was the shadow of a shade: sea-bathing 
might restore him. In order to obtain it, he was removed 
to Brow, a village on the Solway Frith ; and there his 
pains were slightly relieved. But the fire was still burn- 
ing. He returned to Dumfries on the 18th of July, 1796, 
wasted in body and face, and hardly able to stand. Dr. 
Maxwell, who attended him, communicated the par- 
ticulars of his closing hours to Cunie : — A tremor per- 
vaded his frame ; his tongue was parched, and his mind 
sunk into delirium when not roused by conversation. On 
the second and third day the fever increased, and his 
strength diminished. Upon the fourth day the cord was 
loosed, and the spirit took its flight. 

He was buried, July 26th, with military honours, as 
belonging to the Dumfries Volunteers, and a great multi- 
tude followed him. The sun shone brightly all the day, 
and while the earth ' * was heaped up, and the green sod 
was laid over him, the crowd stood gazing for some 
minutes' space, and then melted silently away." 



POEMS OF BURNS. 



THE TWA DOGS.* 

A TALE. 

'TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,* 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' tlie afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang' at hame, 
Forgather' d ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,* 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit^ some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw® brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient^ a pride, na pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin.® 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,® 
Nae tawted tyke, ^^ tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 

1 "The Tale of Twa Dogs" was composed after the resolution of 
publishing was nearly taken. Robert had a dog, which he called 
jLuath, that was a great favourite. The dog had been killed by the 
wanton cruelty of some person the night before my father's death. 
Robert said to me that he should hke to confer sucii immortality as 
he could bestow «8i his old friend Luath, and that he had a great 
mind to introduce something into the book under the title of 
"Stanzas to the Memory of a quadruped Friend;" but this plan was 
given up for the Tale as it now stands. Caesar was merely thd 
creature of the poet's imagination, created for the purpose of hold- 
ing chat with his favourite Luath. G. B. 

^ A Pictish king, said to have given a name to Kyle. ^ Busy. 

♦Ears. * Whelped. 'Handsome. ^ Fiend. ^ a. small dog. 
• A smithy. »o Dog with matted hair. 

A 



2 BURNS. 

The tither was a ploughman^s colliei* ■ 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,' 
Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,' 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash* an' faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh*^ or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt*' face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
His breast was white, his towzie"' back 
Weel clad wi' coat c»' glossy black ; 
His gawcie® tail, wi- upward curl, 
Hung owre his hurdles® wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 'd and snowkit ;" 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ;" 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry 'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' dafl^ weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
Ail' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

C^SAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you hare; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. ^' 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents ;*• 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks,** 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks." 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin," 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan" 

» A country cur. * A brother. 

^ Cuchullin's dog in ** Ossian's Fingal.— R.B. 

« Wise. * A ditch. « White-striped. 

^ Rough. • Large. • Loins. ^'^ Scented. ^^ Digged 

12 At all. »3 Dues of any kmd, »* Stitches. " Peeps. 

»• Cramming. i^ Stomach. 



TliE T^A DOGS. 3 

Wi* sauce, ragouts, and such like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner,* 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch' in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't enough, 
A cotter howkin^ in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin* a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie*^ o' wee duddie^ weans,^ 
An' nought but his han' darg, ® to keep 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape.* 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters. 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' oauld and hungeirT 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet, 
They're maistly wonderf u' contented ; 
An' buirdly^" chiels, an' clever hizzies^ 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CJESAB. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit. 
How huff 'd, an' cuff 'd, an' disrespeckit I 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle, 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock." 

I've noticed on our Laird's court-day, 

An' mony a time my heart's been wae. 

Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 

How they maun thole^^ a factor's snash ;" 

He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and swear," 

He'll apprehend them, poind" their gear; 

While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 

An' hear it a', an' fear and tremble I 

* W,^der. ' Paunch. ^ Digging. * Building. 

• A numerous collection. • Ragged. ^ Children. 

• Labour. ® Clothing necessaries. ^^ Stout-grown. 

^1 Badger. ^^ Endure. ^^ Abuse. 

** '* My indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel 

factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to sec us all in 

tears. ''~R B. '^' Seize their goods. 



BURN'S. 

I see how folk live that hae riches: 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches. 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched's ane wad think 
Tho' constantly on poortith's' brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the^ sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie'-^ weans an' faithfu' wives: 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 
An' wliyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy; 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin. 
And ferlie^ at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass* returns. 
They get the jovial, ranting Kirns,* 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 

They bar the door on frosty wins ; 

The nappy^ reeks w^i' mantling ream, 

An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 

The luntin® pipe, an sneeshin mill,' 

Are handed round wi' right guid will; 

The cantie^^ auld folks crackin crouse," 

The young anes ranting thro' the house,— 

My heart has been sae fain to see them, 

That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

^ Still it's owre true that ye hae said. 

Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 

There's monie a creditable stock 

0' decent, honest fawsont^^ folk, 

1 Poverty. 2 Thriving. s Wonder. * 31st October. 

« Harvest-suppers. « Ale. 7 Cream. 

« Smoking. « Snuff-box. 10 Cheerful. 

1^ Conversing merrily. i^^ Seemly. 



THE TWA BOGS. I 

Are riven out baith root an' branch, 
Some rascaPs pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins,' thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin— 

Haith,' lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say, rather, gaun as Premiers lead him. 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him: 
At operas an' plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,^ 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn Ion ton an' see the worP. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout. 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt;* 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
W — e-hunting amang groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drumly^ German water. 
To make himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras. 
For Britain's guid! for her destruction! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hech,^ man! dear sirs! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last? 

O would they stay aback frae courts. 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports. 
It wad for ev'rj ane be better. 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet^ o' them's ill-hearted fellows; 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, * 
Or speakin lightly o' their Limmer,* 

^ ^. J: Perliaps. 2 a petty oath. » Giddy. 

* Fight with black cattle. « Muddy. « Oh— strange. 

^ A petty oath of negation. » Timber. » A woman of ill character. 



BURNS. 

Or sbootiii o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er-a-bit tliej^'re ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? 
ISTae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer^ them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em, 
It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' Vv'intcr's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auldv age \\v grips an' granes :^ 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themsels to vex them; 
An' ay tlie less they hae to sturt' them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellov>^ at the pleugh. 
His acres till'd, he's right eueugh; 
A country girl at her wheel. 
Her dizzens^ done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies w^arst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' restless; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' tasteless; 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic j)omp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sovrther^ a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' w — ring, 
Neist day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a run deils an jads thegither.® 
Whyles, owre the v^^ee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 

Molest. 2 Groans. » Trouble. '* Dozens 

s Cement. * Together. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crobbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ouy unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was ought of sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night ; 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, 
The kye^ stood rowtin'^ i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men^ but dA)g^ ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Give him strocg drink, until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi' grief an' care; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowin' o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs^ xxxi. 6, 7 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us. 

An' grate our lug,* 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream* owre the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink. 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky Wheat the haught^ adorn. 
An' Aits® set up their awnie^ horn, 
An* Pease an' Beans at een or morn. 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee,® John Barleycorn, 

Thou King o' grain I 

? Cows. ' Lowing. * Ear. ^ Froth. * Valleya 

• Oats. "^ Bearded. ^ An endearing phrase— I am happy in thea 



8 BURNS. 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,* 
In souple^ scones, ^ the wale* o' food I 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief, 

Food fills the wame, * an' keeps up livin : 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
"When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; 

But oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,' 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited' Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Cai*e; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Fet humbly kind, in time o' need, 

The poor man's win*;, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents. 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night W9 get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in I 
Or reekin on a New-year mornin 

In cog® or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 

An' gusty'' sucker! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath. 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,*^ 
O rare I to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup I" 
Then Burnewin^'^ comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup.^' 

> Chews her cud. ^ Flexible. ^ A kind of bread. * The choioct 

» Belly. • Swiftly. ' Stupified. « A wooden dish. 

? Tasteful. ^''Gear. ^^ A wooden cup with handle. 

i' Buraewin— Burn- the- wind— the Blacksmith. a> Blow, 



SCO TCH DRINIC. 9 

Nae mercy, then, for airn^ or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip,^ wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie^ ring an' reel 

Wr dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin^ weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumbling cuifs^ their dearies slight, 

Wae worth the name. 
Nae Howdie® gets a social night, 

Or plack^ frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud® as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree^ 

Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 
Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To w^yte^° her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason^^ 

Wi' liquors nice. 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier^^ her price. 
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash,^' 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes." 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell; 
Poor plackless devils like mysel, 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mellj 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench. 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain. 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men ! 

5 Iron. ^ A way of striking with their hammer on the arm. '• Anril 

* Crying. ^ Blockheads. 

* A midwife. ' The third part of a Scotch penuy. ® Mad. 

•Juice. 10 Blame. ^^Wesand. ^^ ^sk. 

A* 4 1' A stupid fellow. ^* Enemies. 



10 BURNS, 

O Whisky ! soul o' plays, an' pranks I 
Accept a Bardie's gratef u' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses I 
Thou comes ^they rattle 1' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh !' O sadly lost! 
Scotland, lament f ra coast to coast ! 
Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky stells^ their prize 
Hand up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice I 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — d drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks,* a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER* 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best — 

How art thou lost I Parody on Miltoii, 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet^ Muse is hearse ! 

Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

1 From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, where the Forbes family 
long had the privilege of distilling whisky, duty free. 
2 Stills. 3 Breeches. 

* This was written before the Act anent the S<'Otch Distilleries, of 
Session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most 
grateful thanks.— R. B. ° Hoarse. 



THE A UTHOR'S CR V AND PR A YER. 11 

To see her sitten on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 

An' scriechen out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust! 

Tell them whae hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitae; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, and tell yon Premier Youth, 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble: 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch and gloom? 
Speak out, an' never fash yourthoom! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em: 
If honestly they canna con:ie. 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back. 

An' hum an' haw; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack^ 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle ;* 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle :' 
An' d — d Excisemen in a bussle,* 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel. 

Or lampit^ shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, 

An' cheek-f or-cho w, ^ a chaffie^ Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking h«r pouch as bare as Winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

> story. 2 Thistle. 3 Whistle. 

* Bustle. » A kind of sheU flsh. 

• Side by aide. ^ Fat-faced. 



12 BURNS, 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves? 
Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomeries fight, 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose welL 
God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Garlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet. 

An' gar them hear it I 
An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it I 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's w^a's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, ' a true blue Scot I'se warran ; 
Thee, aith^-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ;^ 
An' that glib-gabbet* Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ;* 
An' ane, a chap that's d — d auldfarran,® 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie'' Norland billic ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes, or Tully, 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle'; 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, ■ 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin v»'hittle. 

Another sang. 

i George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen, in Forfarshire. ■ Oath. 

3 Sir Adam Ferguson.— R. B. 
* Quick and smooth-speaking. ^ The Duke of Montrose.— R. B^ 
« Sagacious. "^ Fiery. « Plough-staff. 



THE AUTHOR'S CRY AND PRAYER. 13 

This while she's been in crankous^ mood 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; 
("Deil na they never mair do guid, 
An' now sux. . Play'd her that pliskie I)' 

~*i2KTiid-wud' 

An' Lord, if ance they pit her till't,^'*^^' 

Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 

An' dnrk an' pistol at her belt, *. 

She'll tak the streets, ^ 

An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' th' first she meets ! 

For God sake. Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik^ her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear,'' 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't \\^^,. "^ my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the cndic!* 
An' send him to nis dicing-box, 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks,* 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse TinnockV 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, ^^ 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie^'* queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle'^ tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ;" 

» Fretful. 2 Trick. ^ Distracted. ^ To it. * Stroke. 

• Learning. ''' Hot. « Terrify the young fellow . 

* Thick cakes of mixed corn. 

!• A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, where he 

•ometimes studies politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch Drink.— 

R. B. 

"Windows. ^^ Confusedly mixed. ^^ Fearless, i* Cudgel. 



14 BURNS, 

An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 

Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen FiYPcarL support ye ; 
May still ygu^'c^^imister grow dorty, * 
T»- An' kick your place, 

Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise,'^ 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes^ 

That haunt St. Jamie's ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blyth an' frisky. 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their PhoBbus kinder warms. 
While fragrance blooms an' beauty charms! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stiuk o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither* 

To Stan' or rin. 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throwther,* 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will. 

An' there's the foe, 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

- e^ucy. ' Clothes. * Daws. « Hesitation, 

» PeU-mell. 



THE HOLY FAIR, 15 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him*. 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wr bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek,^ 
An' raise a philosophic reek,'^ 
An' physically causes seek. 

In clime an' season; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither I 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine^ your dam; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegitherl 

Tak aS your dram I 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation: 
A mask that Uke the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion.— iiZj/pocrisy d- la-mode. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn. 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller^ air. 
The risen sun, owre Galston*' muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin' down the furs, 

The lav'rocks® they were chantin 
Fu' sweet that day. 

1 Shut. « Smoke. ^ Lose. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a 
jwtcramental occasion.— R. B. 

Ferzueson, in his "Hallow Fair" of Edinburgh, I beheve, fur- 
piished a hint and title of the plan of the " Holy Fair. * " The farcical 
scene the poet there describes was often a favourite field of his ob- 
•ervation, and the most of the incidents he mentions had actually 
passed before his eyes.— G. B. 

• Fresh. ® The adjoining parish to Mauchliue. 
^ Creeping. ^ Larks. 



16 BURNS, 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin^ up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o^ dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart^ linin; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shinin, 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appeared like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes; 
Their visage withered, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes:^ 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie,* 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ** Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, 

But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughing as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hands, 
** Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

Of a' the ten commands 

A screed^ some day. 

** My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffin :^ 
Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd^ pair, 

We will get famous laughin 

At them this day." 

Quoth I, '' With a' my heart, I'll do't; 

I'll get my Sunday's sark^ on, 
An meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin !" 



J Tripping 


2 Gray. 


8 Sloes. 


* Lamb. » A rent. 


• Merriment. 
8 Shirt. 


f Wrinkled 



THE HOL V FAIR. \9 

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,* 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie bodie, 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash,' in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin' by their cotters ; 
There, swankies* young, in braw braid-claith| 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whan^,* 

An' farls,® bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet^ throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin. 
Some carryin dales, some chairs and stools, 

An' some are busy bleth'rin® 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three w s 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jades, * 

Wi' heavin breast an' bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster^^ lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 

Here, some are thinkin on their sins 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd" his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch," 

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

> BreaMast-time. « Wise. 

• The motion of a countryman riding on a cart-horse. 

^•trapping young fellows. ® String. • Cakes of bread 

^ The Elder who holds the alms-dish. 
•Talking idly. » Whispering, lo ^veaver. "Soiled, i^ sample. 



BURNS, 

O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wlia's ain dear lass, that he likes belt, 

Comes elinkin down beside him I 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation; 
For Moodie'^ speels^ the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornio, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The vera sight o' Moodie's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin I 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen 'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. 

His eldritch* squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters. 

On sic a day ! 

But, hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; 

There's peace and rest nae langer; 
For a' the real judges rise. 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith^ opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals; 
An' aif the godly pour in thrangs. 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 



^ Palm of the hand. ^ Minister of Riccarton. * Cllmbi. 
* Unearthly. ^ Minister of Galston. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 19 

Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles, ^ f rae the Water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim^ has view'd it, 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,^ 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller,* neist, the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, ^ 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie^ wants a Manse, 

So cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now, butt an' ben,"^ the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup^ Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes^ an' gills. 

An' there's the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day, 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gie's us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs*^ us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep. 

To kittle" up our notion 

By night or day. 

* Minister of Newtown-upon-Ayr, of which the Water-fit wau 
ADOther name. ^ Prim . * A street so called, which faces the tent 
in [MauchUne.]— R. B. * Assistant-preacher at Auchenleck. * Rat- 
tlefi nonsense. • Clever fellow. "^ Kitchen and parlour. ® Ale-cup. 
• Biscuits. >o Crams. " Tickle. 



20 BURNS. _; 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saiil an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer^ about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're makin observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin. 
An' echoes back ret.irn the shouts; 

Black RusseP is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highland sworda, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell, 

Our vera ^* sauls does harrow "^ 

Wi' fright that day, 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin* brunstane, 
Wha's raging flame, an' scorching heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane 1* 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin. 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 
Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past. 
An' how they crowded to the yill. 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caupg, 

Amang the furais and benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, ^ gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck'' an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 

1 stir. 
' Minister of Kilmarnock, and described as equally awful in looks 
and language. 

3 Shakspeare's Hamlet.— R. B. * Flaming. » Whinstone. 
• Jolly. ^ Cheese. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 81 

The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day, 

Waesiicks !^ for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething I 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie^ his braw claithing! 
O Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day I 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow. 

Begins to jow* an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow,* 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps'* the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine, 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in Houghmagandie® 

Some ither day. ' 

> Waes me I • Soil. ^ To peal or roar. < They can. 

* Gates. « Fornication. 

^ Sharp diseases require sharp remedies; and Burns^ ridicul* ii 
laid to hare been of considerable use. 



22 BURNS. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK.^ 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd. 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid,^ at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture, 

But this that I am gaun to tell. 
Which lately on a night befell. 
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell 

Or Dublin city j 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I wasna fou, but just had plenty : 

I stacher'd^ whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae' ghaists an' witchei. 

The rising moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my stalf , wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker;* 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. * 

1 there wi' Something did forgather, • 
That put me in an eerie swither;^ 

An' awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang: 

A three -taed leister® on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

* John Wilson, schoolmaster of Tarboiton, who excited the angef 
of Burns by talking of his medical skill. Wilson sold medicine and 
fave advice gratis. 

2 Fib. 3 staggered. * Steady. ^ A short course. 
• Meet. ' Frighted wavering. * Three-pronged dart. 



DEA TH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 23 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame^ it had ava, 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks.' 

* Guid-een, " quo' I ; * * Friend ! hae ye been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin?"^ 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, *^ Friend, whare ye gaun. 

Will ye go back?" 

It spak right ho we* — '^ My name is Death, 
But be na fley'd. "—Quoth 1, '' Guid faith, 
Ye're may be come to stap my breath ; 

But tent"^ me, billie ; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, ^ 

See, there's a gully 1"^ 

" Gudeman," quo' he, ^^put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle' 

To be mislear'd,^ 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

** Weel, weeil'' says I, ^^ a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

Come, gies your news ; 
This while*° ye hae been mony a gate. 

At mony a house." 

*' Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
** It's e'en a lang, lang time, indeed. 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An' choke the breath: 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death. 

' Belly. - A kind of wooden curb. 

• This rencounter happened in seedtime, 1785.— R. B. 

» Hollow. ^ Be careful. « Damage. '^ A large knife. 

« Difficult. 
* "Put out of my art." — Chamxhers. 
*• An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.— R. B. 



*^ Sax thousand years are near hand fled, 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's^ ta'en up the trade, 

An* faith, he'll waur' me* 

** Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,* 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan I* 
He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan' 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans hand out their fingers laughin 

And pouk my hips. 

** See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a 

D— d haet they'll kill. 

** 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain: 

But deil-ma-care. 
It just play'd dirl* on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 

** Hornbook was by, wi' ready art. 
And had sae fortify'd the part. 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt.' 

** I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpit® wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

C hard whin rock. 

* This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother of 
the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, dv intuition and inspiratioxi, 
is at once an apothecary, surgeon, and physician.— R. B. 

2 Worse. 3 Small village. * Tobacco-pouch. 

• •' Buchar'a Domestic Medicine. '^— R. B. • A siigh/- Jtroke. 

■^ A cabbage-root ® Tumbled. 



DEA TH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 2: 

** And then, a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

** Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
True Sal-marinum o' the seas; 
The Farina of beans and pease. 

He has't in plenty; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please. 

He can content ye. 

** Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd 'per »e ; 
Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings. 

And mony mae." 

"Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole^ now," 

Quo' I, ** if that thae news be true ! 

His braw calf -ward whare gowans^ grew, 

Sac white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

They'll ruin Johnnie l** 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh. 
And says, ' ' Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear! 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh* 

In twa-three year. 

** Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae-death,* 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
This night I'm free to take my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap and pill. 

"An honest Wabster* to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head. 

When it was sair; 
The wife slade® cannie to her bed. 

But ne'er spak mair. 

^ The grave-digeer.— R. B. 2 Daisies. » Ditch. « A death in b%<i. 
•Weaver. • Did elide. 



26 BURNS. 

** A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 
Or some curmurring^ in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, ' 

Was Laird himsel. 

** A bonnie lass, ye kend her name. 

Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd* her wame; 

She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care: 
Horn sent her ajff to her laug hame, 

To hide it there. 

** That's just a swatch^ o' Hornbook's way; 
Thus goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel pay'd for't; 
Yet stops me o' mv lawfu' prev, 

Wi' his d— d dirt. 

**But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited Sot 

As dead's a herrin; 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad^ a groat. 

He gets his f airin !*' 

But just as he began to tell. 

The auld kirk-hamm^r strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith; 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel. 

And sae did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 
INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush; 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill. 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 

> Bots. 2 ^ rumbling. ^ Two-year old sheep. * Swelled, 
^ Sampis. * Set. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. S7 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field, 
Bhall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When Ballantyne befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame. 
With heartfelt throes his gi-ateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack* and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potato -bings" are snugged up frae skaith^ 
O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' fiow'rs' delicious spoil?, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles.. 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd* wi' brimstone reek; 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feathered field-mates, bound by Nature's tie. 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs. 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhajDs the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days. 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the raySc 

^Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 

* Thatch. 3 Potato heaps. ^ injury. ■* ^moihered 



^ BURNS. 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ay?, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, 

He left his bed and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simpson's^ w^heel'd the left ^bout: 

(Whether impelPd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dungeon clock' had numbered two, 

And Wallace Tow'r^ had sworn the fact was true; 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen-sounding roar. 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore: 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glittering stream. — • 

When, lo 1 on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh* of whistling wings is heard; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the gos'^ drives on the wheeling hare; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And even the ^era deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appcar'd o' ancient Pictish race. 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he T\i' Time had warstl'd lang. 
Yet, teughly® doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit, ' in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums® at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search. 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless snec^r to see his modish mien. 
He down the water, gies him this guideen ;* — 

> A noted tavern at the Auld Brig End.— B. B. 

• In the old prison of Ayr. 3 Which formerly stood in the High-street 

♦ A rushing sound of wind. * The gos-hawk, or falcon.— R. B. 

• Toughly stout. ^ Dressed. « Useless ornaments. 

• Good erening. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 2^ 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'U think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank I 
But gin ye be a brig as au^d as me, 
Tho' faith 1 that date, I doubt, ye'll never see; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a bodle,' 
Some fewer whigmeleeries^ in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little meiise,' 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet. 
Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modem time? 
There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream,* 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as yon. 

AUIiD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk I* puff'd up wi' vrindy pride I 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn,* 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn I 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains : 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. 
Or haunted Garpar draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes,* 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo^ rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat,^* 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the jate ; 
And from Glenbuck,^^ down to the Ratton-key,*^ 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen d, tumbling sea; 

* A smaU gold coin. 2 Fancies. * Good manners. 

* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig-.— R. B. 

• A term of contempt; fool. <* Distressed. 

T The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the Weal 

of Scotland where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name 

\i ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit.— R. B. 

• Thaws. " Snow-water. ^'^ Torrent. 

11 The source of the River Ayr.— R. B. 

*2 A small landing place above the large key. — R. B. 



^ BURIES. 

Then down ye'll burl, dell uor ye never rise! 

And dash the gunilie^ jaups^ up to the pouring skies; 

A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 

That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Pine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't) 
The Lord be thankit that we've tint the gate o'tl* 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices: 
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom -inspiring coves; 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windov/s and doors in nameless sculptures drest. 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
There likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace; 
Or cuiis* of later times, wha held the notion, 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh^ denies protection. 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection! 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remembcr'd, ancient yearlings,* 

Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings I 

Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony . Bailie, 

Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay; 

Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners, 

To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners. 

Ye godiy C'ouncils wha hae blest this town; 

Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 

Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the smiters; 

And (^vhat would now be strange) jq godly Writers:^ 

A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,^ 

Were ye but here, v/hat would ye say or do! 

How would your spirits groan in deep vexation.^ 

To see each m.elancholy alteration ; 

And agonizing, curse the tim and place 

When ye begat the base, degen'rate race; 

Muddy. 2 Jerks of water. Lost the way of it. * Blockheads* 
^ Burgh. * Coevdls. "' Lawyers. ^ Water. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 31 

Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
lu plain, braid Scots hold forth a plain, braid story; 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; 
But staumrel,^ corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment^ and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd^ gear on d — d new Brigs 
and Harbours I 

NEW BRIG. 

Now baud you there! for faith ye've said enough, 

And muckie mair than ye can mak to through ;* 

As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 

Corbies^ and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 

But, under favour o' your langer beard, 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd; 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 

To mouth **a Citizen," a term o' scandal: 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 

Men wha grew wise priggin^ owre hops an' raisins, 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shor'd^ them wi' a glimmer of his lamp, 

And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them, 

Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver® might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight 
A fairy train appeared in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they f eatly® danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennoblincr Bards heroic ditties 



'C? 



sung 



O had M'Lauchlan,^° thairm^^ inspiring sage, 

Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 

When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland 

rage, 

' Half-witted. 2 Devastation. ^ Well-saved, 

♦ Make out. ^ Crows. ^ Cheapening. "^ Threatened. 

® Idle conversation. « Sprucelr. 

>• ▲ well-known performer of Scottish music on the Violin.— R. B. 

1^ Fiddle -string. 



32 BURNS. 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting air», 

The lover's raptured joys, or bleeding cares ; 

How would his highland lug* been nobly fir'd, 

And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'dl 

No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 

But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 

Harmonious concert rung in every part, 

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable chief, advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter-tangle'^ bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid -beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next followed Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the FeaP wild- woody coverts hide; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A Female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair;* 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, ^ their long-lov'd abode ; 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath. 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death : 
At sight of whom our Sprites f orgat their kindling wrath. 

THE ORDINATION/ 

For sense, they little owe to frugal Heav'n— 
To please the mob, they hide the little giv'n. 

Kilmarnock Wabsters, '' fidge and claw, 
An' pour your creeshie® nations ; 

An' ye wha leather rax® an' draw, 
Of a' denominations, 

^Ear. 2 Sea-weed. 

' Feal is a small stream that runs near Coilsfield. 

♦ The allusion is to Mrs. Stewart, of Stair. 

• On the banks of Ayr, where Professor Stewart resided, when not 
•ccupied by his work at Edinboro'. 

• The "Ordination " ^ew out of a Kirk squabble, in Kilmarnock, 
between the "high-flymg" and the "moderate" i)arty, who wer« 
vanquished in the fray; a high-flying minister having obtained the 
appointment. Burns endeavored to console the defeated "moder- 
ates " with a vision of the expected ceremony. " Maggie Lauder," 
as we are informed by Burns, was the maiden name of the Rev. Mr. 
Lindsay's wife., ''Weavers. 'Greasy, * Stretch., 



THE ORDINATION. 33 

tBwith' to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' »\ 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to Begbie'sin a raw,' 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell. 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russel sair misea'd her ; 
This day M'Kinlay taks the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud' her! 
He'll clap a shangan* on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud^ her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt* wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirP up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,* 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang hcr^ 
For Heresy is in her pow'r. 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read. 

An' touch it off wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham^ leugh^^ at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger :" 
Or Phineas^*^ drove the murdering bladd 

Wi w — e-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah," the scauldin' jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' Inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
An' gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin'. 

Spare them nae day. 

> Get away. 2 Row. ' Slap. 

* A gtick cleft at one end. » Pelt. « Sing. ^ shriek. 

« Dust. • Genesis ix. 22.— R. B. 10 Did laugh. 

-^ i negro. »' Nurabers xxv. 8.— R. B. ^^ Exodus iv. 25.— R. BL 



34 BURNS. 

Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

An' toss thy horns f u' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte^ out-owre the dalt. 

Because thy pasture's scanty; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale,* 

No gie'n by way o' dainty. 

But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep,* 

And o'er the thairms* be tryin ; 
Oh rare! to see our elbucks wheep,* 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day 1 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,® 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencaim, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly, elect bairn, 

He's waVd' us out a true ane, 

And sound this day. 

Now Robinson harangue nae mair, 

But steek® your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae refiection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver; 
Or to the Netherton^ repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match. 
We never had sic twa drones; 

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 
Just like a winkin baudrons,^^ 

1 BeUow. 2 Choice. » Chirp. 

* Strings. ^ Elbows jerk. • Iron. ^ Chogen 

8 Shut. s A district of Ejlmarnock. i« Cat. 



THE ORDINATIOI^, 35 

And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons ; 
But now his Honor maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes, 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays 1 

I vow it's unco pretty ! 
There Learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there, — they're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day, 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse^ 

And cowe^ her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin'' in, 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light^ mother's son, 

From this time forth. Confusion : 
If mair they deave^ us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion. 
We'll light a spunk, "^ and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 

* A pull upwards. ^ lqp 3 An English pint. 

♦ New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for thow 
religious opinions which Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, has so strenuously 
defended— R. B. * Deafen. « A match. 



36 BURNS 



THE calf; 



TO THE RKY. MR. JAMES STEVEN, ON HIS TEXT, MIULCHX, 
CH, rv. VKR. 2. 



'*And they shall go forth, and grow up, like calves of the stalL** 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tho' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a 'kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stirk.** 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot!* 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your But-and-ben* adorns. 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And, m your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and ro wte, ^ 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claim* 

To rank amang the No wte. * 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — ; 

*^Here lies a famous Bullock!" ■ 

> The Poem was nearly an extemporaneous production on a wager 
that he would not produce a poem on the subject hi a given 
time.— R. B. « Bullock of a vear old. ^ ^n ox. 

« Kitchen and parlour. » Bellow. * Black cattle. 



ADDIiESS TO THE DEIL, 37 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.' 

Oh Prince ! Oh Chief of many throned Pow*rs, 
That led th' embattled Seraphim to war.— ilfi7f on. 

O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges^ about the brunstane cootie,^ 

To scaud poor wretches! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deil. 
To skelp* an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeell 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ;* 

Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 

An', tho' yon lowin heugh's^ thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith I thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur/ 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion, 
For prey a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong- wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirlin® the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 

* It was, I think, in the winter, as we were going together with 
carts for coal to the family Are (and I could yet point out the par* 
ticular spot), that the author first repeated to me the " Address to 
the Deil." The curious idea of such an address was suggested to 
him by running over in his mind the many ludicrous accounts and 
representations we have from various quartei-s of this august per* 
•onage.— G. B. 2 Dashest. 3 Wooden dish. * Strike. 

* The third stanza was originally 

Langs3me in Eden's happy scene, 
When strappin' Adam's days were green, 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 

My dearest part, 
A dancln', sweet, young, handsome quean 

Wi' guileless heart. 

• Flaming" pit. ' Neither bashful nor apt to b© scared. 

® Uncovering. 



38 BURNS. 

Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 

Wi' eldritch croon.* 

When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! 
Mt yont the dyke she's heard you bummin,* 

We' eerie drone; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries^ comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 

The stars shot down wi' sklentm* light, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough; 
Ye, like a rash-bush,^ stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve^ did shake, 

Each bristrd hair stood like a stake, 

When wi' an eldritch stoor,^ quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd,® like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks^ grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed^ *^ nags, 
They skin the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit" dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn^^ in vain; 
For, Oh I the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill; 
An' dawtit,^^ twal-pint^^ Hawkie's gaen 

Asyell's^Uhebill.^* 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 

On young Guidman, fond, keen, an' crouse;*' 

When the best wark-lume^® i' the house, 

By cantraip^^ wit. 
Is instant made no worth a , 

Just at the bit. 

' Frightful moan. 2 Humming. 

• ti^ shrub elder, common in the hedges of barn-yards. * Slant 
|WA\ ^ A bush of rushes. * Fist. '^Hoarse. ® Fluttered. • Wijt 
UC8. ^^ Ragwort. »i Digged up. ^^ Chum. ^^ pQu^jied. 1* Twelve 
Dint. 1° Barren. ^^ Bull. ^' Courageous. ^® Working tool 
J» Magical. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL, 39 

When thowes^ dissolve the snawy hoord,' 
An' float the jinglin' icy-boord, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted Travellers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies' 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eves, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is. 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Mason's mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to heU. 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r: 

Then you, ye auld, snec-drawing* dog I 

Ye came to Paradise incog, 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue,^ 

(Black be you fa 1) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog,* 

'Maist ruin'd a\ 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,^ 
Wi' reekit duds,® an' reestit gizz,* 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented^" on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke? 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hal'. 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd" his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl," 

Wast warst ava?^^ 

> Thaws. ' Hoard. « Will-o'-whisp. * Trick-contriving. 

* Trick. « Shock. ^ Bugtie. s smoky clothes. » Stunted periwig 

»o Played. *» Loosed. '^ Scold. !« Of aH. 



40 BURETS. 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin^ fierce, 
Sin' that day MichaeP did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding^ a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, 

A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin. 

Some luckless hour will send him linkin,* 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,*^ 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-benI 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' 1 
Ye aiblins® might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake—* 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake I 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAa- 
LIE,' THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOUKNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither. 

Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 

Upon her cloot® she coost^ a hitch, ^^ 

An' owre she warsl'd" in the ditch: 

There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 

When Hughoc^^ he cam doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted ban's. 

Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; 

He saw her days were near-hand ended. 

But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it. 

1 Fighting. 2 vide Miltou, Book vi.— R. B. 3 Worst. 

4 Tripping. ^ Dodging. « Perhaps. 

■^ The circumstances of the poor sheep were pretty much as he 
has described them: he had, partly by way of frohc, bought a ewe 
and two lambs from a neighbour, and she was tethered in a field ad- 
joining the house at Lochlie. He and I were going out with our 
teams, and our two younger brothers to drive for us, at mid-d»y; 
when Hugh Wilson, a curious-looking, awkward boy, clad in plaid- 
ing, came to us, came to us, with much anxiety in his face, with the 
information that the ewe had entangled herself in the tether, and 
was lying in the ditch. Robert was much tickled with Huoc's ap- 
pearance and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set tc 
rights, and when we returned from the plough in the evening, he re 
peated to me her "Death and Dying Words," pretty much in Xhi 
way they now stand.— G. B. 

« Hoof. » Cast. 10 Loop. i^ Wrestled, 

12 A neibor herd-caJlan.— R. B. 



THE DEATH OF POOR MAILIE. 41 

He gaped wide, but naething spak, 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

** thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case, 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

^^ Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flocks increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' 1* 

** Tell him, he was a Master kin', 
An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 

*^ O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives.' 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to f end^ themsel : 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats^ o' hay, an' ripps* o' corn. 

* * An' may they never learn the gaets* 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu'^ pets ! 
To slink thro' slajjs,"^ an' reave* an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbears,' 
For monie a year come thro' the shears ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet ^° for them when they're dead. 

'^My poor toop-lamb," my son an' heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins^^ in his breast I 
An' warn him, what I winna name ; 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' not to rin an' wear his cloots. 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

** An' niest my j^owie,^^ silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 



* Wool. • Live comfortably. ^ Small quantities. ■* Hi 
- • "Ways. * Restless. '' Gates, or breaks in fences 
• Rove. » Forefathers. ^^ Weep. 

*» Ram. *' Good manners. " Ewe. 



< Handfulu 



12 BURNS. 

O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop^ an' mell,' 
Wr sheep o' credit like thysel I 

*' And now, nay bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
!Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

**Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blather."* 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head. 
An* clos'd her een amang the dead I 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane^ of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead I 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie,^ wear 

The mourning weed: 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear. 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran wi' speed: 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence. 

Thro' thievish greed, 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence** 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

•Kibble. 3 Meddle. 3 Bladder. -» Copeston© 
• Worn with grief. « Parlour. 



TO JAMES SMITH. 43 

Or, if he wanders up the ho we, ^ 

Her living image, in her yowe, 

Comes bleating to him owre the knowe,' ^ 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips,^ 

Wi' tawted* ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed; 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips^ 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie^ thing — a rape ! 
It make guid fellows girn^ an' gape, 

Wi' chokin dread; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a* ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters® tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon* 

0' Robin's reed! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead I 



TO JAMES SMITH. ^« 

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! 

Sweet 'ner of Life, and solder of Society I 

I owe thee much. Blair, 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie^^ thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef ^^ 

Owre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief^^ 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

^ Dell. 2 HUlock. 8 Rams. -* Matted wool. • Shearg. 

• Unlucky, ^ Qrin. s parts of bagpipes. • Moan. 

*• Smith kept a shop in Mauchline. ii Cunmng. ^^ wizard spell 

13 Proof. 



44 Burns. 

That auld, capricious carlin, * Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit^ stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, '' The Man/» 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancy yerkit^ up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon . 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needf a' cash, 

Some rhyme to court the contra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ;* 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot. 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An' d — d my fortune to the groat ; 

But, in requit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent. 
To try my fate in guid, black prent ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent. 

Something cries, * * Hoolie 1* 
I red'' you, honest man, tak tent! 

Ye'll shaw your folly. 

** There's ither poets, much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

A' future ages : 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters. 

Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth Til rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

» Old woman. ^ Scanty. ^ Lashed. * Care for. * Gently. 
« I warn j )u. 



TO JAMES SMITH. 45 

ni wander on, wi' tentless^ heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale? 

Just now we're living, sound an' hale ; 

Then top and maintop crowd tlie sail, 

Heave Care o'er side I 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide 

This life, sae far's I understand,'^ 

Is a' enchanted fairy- land. 

Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-f orty's speel'd, ' 
See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face. 
Comes hostin,^ hirplin'* owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then f areweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' f areweel chearfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear deluding woman. 

The joy of joys! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 

To joy and play. 

> Heedless. 
' In your epistle to J. S., the stanzas, from that beginning with 
Ihis line, "This life," &c., to that which ends with, "Short while it 
l^eves," are easy, flowing, gaily philosophical, and of Horatian 
elegance. The language is EngUsh, with a few Scottish words, and 
some of those so harmonious as to add to the beauty; for what poet 
would not prefer gloaming to timlight?—Dr. Moore, June 10, 1789. 
• Climbed. * Coughing. ^ Limping. 



46 BURVS 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 

For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 

They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some Fortune chase; 
Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey: 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan'. 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin' ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin', 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starving 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce wi' peevish, poor complaining I 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, "Ye Pow'rs!" and warm implore, 

**Tho' I should wander TeiTa o'er, 

In all her climes. 
Grant me but this, I ask no more. 

Ay rowth^ o' rhymes. 

** Gie dreeping^ roasts to countra Lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards, 

And Maids of Honour; 
And yilP and whisky gie to Cairds,* 

Until they sconner. ' 

> Plenty. « Dropping. «Ale. < Tinkers. * Loath«i 



TO JAMES SMITH. ti 

** A Title, Dempster^ merits it : 

A Garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

Gie TVealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

In cent per cent; 
But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 

*^ While Ye are pleased to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, "^ 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
BehiQt my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk' beneath ^Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool. 
Compared wi' you — O fool I fool I fool I 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
Your lives, a dyke I 

Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces I 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray. 
But gravissimo, solemn basses, 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wifle; 
Na€ ferly^ tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scaii*um, ram-stam* boys, 
The rattling squad: 

1 see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. — 

Whilst I — but I shall haud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat® my sang, 
Content with You to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 

* An active Member of Parliament, who died in 1818, 

• Brofti made of water, shelled barley, and greens. • Stoojx 

* An expression of contempt. • Thoughtless, • Quit. 



48 BURNS. 



A DREAM. 



Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames witfe reason; 
But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason 

* ' On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, 
with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was na 
sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transportecl 
to the Birth-day Levee ; and in his dreaming fancy, madt 
the following Address." — R. B. 

GuiD-MORNiN to your Majesty ! 

May heaven augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang thae Birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day, 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By many a lord an' lady ; 
*^ God save the King 1" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel tum'd and ready, 
Wad gar^ you trow ye ne'er do wrang. 

But ay unerring steady. 

On sic a day. 

For me I before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your hmnble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on Your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins' ane been better 

Than You this day. 

Tis very true my sovereign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But Facts are cheels^ that winna ding,* 

An' downa^ be disputed : 

> Make. ' Perhaps. • Yoimg f ellow* 

4 Will not be beaten, * Cannot. 



A DREAM. 4^1 

Your Royal nest, beneath Your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, ^ 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 

Far be'c frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,^ 

Wad better filled their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace. 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster. 
Or, faith ! I fear, that we' the geese, 

I shortly boost^ to pasture 

I' the craft^ some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,* 

A name not envy spairges, ^) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges; 
But, God's sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek' 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax® Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection. 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great Birth-day. 

* TKm and patched ; the allusion is to the separation of Ajnerica, 
* Cow-stable. 'Must needs. * Field. « Child. •Bemires. ''Exult 
•Stretch. 

C 



50 BURNS. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please Ye, 
Will Ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies Ye? 
Thae bonny bairntime, Heav'n has lent^ 

Still higher may they heeze^ Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release Ye 

, Frae care that day. 

For you, young Potentate o^ Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling saiL^ 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie^ 

By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's^ been known 

To mak a noble aiver ;* 
Say, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver :* 
There, Him^ at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,' 

He was an unco shaver® 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,® 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeves sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty ^° dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! " an' get a wife to hug. 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, ^'^ I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley, ^^ stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 

> Raise. 2 Mr. Fox. 3 Colt. * Cart-horse. » Idle talk. 

•King Henry V.— R. B. 1 Sir John Falstaflf : mde Shakspeare.-R.B. 
• Wag. ^ Osnaburg gave the title of Bishop to the second son 

of George EH. 10 Proud. ^ Get away. 12 xhe Royal "Breeks " 
was the Duke of Clarence. ^^ Alluding to the newspaper account 
of a certain Royal sailor's amour.— R B. 



THE VISION. 61 

But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim,* 

An', large upon her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a'. 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa', * 

For Kings are unco scant ay; 
An' German Gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ;' 
But, ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie^ fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't* at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen^ they hae clautet® 

Fu' clean that day. 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST.' 



The sun had closed the winter day, 
The Curlers' quat their roarin play, 
And hunger'd Maukin^ taen her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Where she has been# 

The Thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And when the day had clos'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the Spence, ^° right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

> Iron. 8 Caressed. ^ Little wooden dish. ■* Murmured. 

•The angle between the side and bottom of the dish. « Scraped. 

' Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digre* 
live poem. See his •' Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation. 
— B.B. * Players at a game on the ice, called curling. * Hare. 
>• The parlour. 



52 BURNS. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 

I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 

That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld, clay biggin ;* 
An' heard the restless rattons^ squeak 

About the riggin. 

' All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time. 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

My cash-account: 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit* 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof !* 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,^ 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — 

"When, click! the string the snick® did dra^r; 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe^ I saw. 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whist ;" 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht* 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. ^^ 
Green, slender, leaf -clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vows. 

Would soon been broken. 

> House. 2 Rats. ^ Half -provided with shirts. * Ninny. 

• Thickened or stained palm. « Latch. ^ Hearth-flam^. 

• Silence. » Struck down. i® Inward. 



THE VISION. 63 

A '*hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,'* 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly- witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ; 

Till half a leg was scrimply^ seen ; 

And such a leg I my bonnie Jean » 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well known land- 
Here, rivers in the sea were lost; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost: 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds '? 
Auld hermit Ayr staw^ thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread. 

An ancient Boarough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air. 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 

With features stem. 

Partly, • Loud noise. ~ • Did staid. 



54 BURNS. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

To see a Race^ heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 
His Country's Saviour,^ mark him well I 
Bold Richardton's^ heroic swell; 
The Chief on Sark* who glorious fell, 

In high command; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 
There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade* 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial Race, portrayed 

In colours strong; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismayed 

They strode along. 
Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, ** 
Ne>;r many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship, or for Love, 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 
With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son I saw,^ 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lor«, 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 
Brydone's brave Ward® I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot name on high, 

And Hero shone. 

1 The Wallaces.— R. B. 2 William Wallace. -R. B. 

* Adam Wallace, of Richarton, cousin of the immorial preserver 
•f Scotish independence. — R. B. 

* Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under 
Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of 
Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally 
owing to the judicloutj conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant 
Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.— R. B. 

* Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is 
said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family- 
seat of the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, where his burial-place is still 
shown.— R. B. 

• Borskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk [Miller].— R.B. 
» Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and prese^it Professor 
Stewart —B. B. » nolonel Fullarton.—E. B. 



THE VISION. 55 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming Fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear. 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet* 

*^ All hail! my own inspired Bard J 
In me thy native Mnse regard I 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low 1 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

*^Know, the great Genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As Arts or Arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

** They Scotia's Race among them share; 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare : 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care, 

The tuneful art. 

'* 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar. 

They, sightless, stand 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

** And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild, Poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

" Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young; 
Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His * Minstrel lays ;' 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The Sceptic's bays. 



56 BURNS. 

" To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kind, 
The rustic Bard, the laboring Hind, 

The Artisan : 
All chuse, as various they're inclined, 

The various man. 

* ' When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill; 
And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

** Some hint the Lover's harmless wile; 
Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 
Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil. 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

**Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large Man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

*^ Of these am I — Coila my name; 

And this district as mine I claim, 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling pow'r: 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

*^ With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

** I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the ISTorth his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar. 

Struck thy yoimg eye. 



THE VISION. 57 

"Or when the deep green-mantPd Earth 
Warm-cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

"When ripen'd fields, and azm^e skies, 
Caird forth the Keaper's rustling noise, 
£ saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk, 
I'd vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

"When youthful Love, warm-blushing strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song. 

To soothe thy flame. 

"I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven, 

*^I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
-And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 

Become thy friends. 

" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose. 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 
0* 



68 BURNS. 

** Then never murmur nor repine; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And trust me, not Potosi^s mine, 

Nor Kings' regard, 
Can give a bliss overmatching thine^ 

A. rustic Bard. 

"To give my counsels all in one,—* 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the dignity of Man, 

With Soul erect; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

**And wear thou this" — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head ; 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUTD, OR THE RIGIDLl 
RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule, 

And lump them aye the^^ither; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither: 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' cafif in; 
So ne'er a fellow-cVeature shght 
For random fits o' daffln. 

5'o/o7?i07i.~-Eccles vlL Id. 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and toll 

Your Xeebour's f auts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd ^\V store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still. 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable Core,^ 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door. 

For glaikit^ Folly's portals ; 

> OoT]^ * CareleM, 



ADDRESS. 59 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie^ tricks, their black mistakw^ 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer,* 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin'. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What raging must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop ; 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 

Bee Social life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 
• Debauchery and Drinking: 

\ O would they stay to calculate 

] Th' eternal consequences; 

Or your more dreaded hell to state, 
Damnation of expenses ! 

\ Te high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins^ nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 
Still gentler sister Woman ; 
.' Tho' they may gang a kennie^ wrang. 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark. 
The moving Why they do it ; 
' And just as lamely can ye mark. 

How far perhaps they rue it. 
ilTBViekj. 'Exchange. 'Transformed. * May be. »SmaUmatC«i 



60 BURNS, 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tone. 

Each spring — ^its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.' 

An honest man's the noblest work of God.— Popa, 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil? 
Or great M'Kinlay^ thrawn his heel? 
Or Robinson^ again grown weel, 

To preach an' read? 
'^Ua, waur than a'l" cries ilka chiel, 

* * Tam Samson's dead !'• 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane. 

An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,* 

An' pleed^ her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death she's dearly paid the kane,* 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

The Brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel, 

Tam Samson's dead I 

When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock? 

Tam Samson's dead! 

* When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl «easoB| 
he supposed it was to be, in Ctesian's phrase, " the last of hisfieldsr 
and expressed an ardent witeh to die and be buried in the muirs. 
On this hint the author composed his Elegy and Epitaph.— R. B. 

A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million.— Vide 
The Ordination, stanza ii.— R. B. 

* Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at 
that time ailmg. For him, see also The Ordination, stanza ix.~R.B. 

♦ Herself aloas. * Clothe. • Rent. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. 61 

He was the king o' a' the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score,* 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

Now safe the stately Sawmonf^ sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And Eels weel ken'd for souple tail, 

And Geds for greed, 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tarn Samson deadl 

Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks^ a' ; 

Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ;* 

Ye Maukins, ^ cock your f ud® f u' braw, 

Withouten dread; 
Your mortal Fae is now awa', — 

Tam Samson's deadl 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith' adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed; 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er retum'd ! 

Tam Samson's deadl 

In vain auld age his body batters ; 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 

In vain the burns cam' down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

' ' Tam Samson's dead I" 

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit. 
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit 

Wi' deadly f eide f 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's deadl 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
" Lord, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger: 

Tam Samson's dead! 

* X digtance line in curling, drawn across the rink. ^ Salno^Ji. 
•Partridges. ■» Cheerfully crow . * Hares. «Tail. 'Dress. « Foud. 



62 BURNS. 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Where Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 

Tarn Samson's dead 1 

There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould 'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch and breed; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead I 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three volleys let his mcm'rj crave 

O' pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead! 

Heav'n rest his souh whare'er he be I 
Is th' wish o' mony mac than me ; 
He had twa faults, or maybe three, 

y et what remead? 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tam Samson's dead! 

THE EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lie«, 

Ye canting zealots, spare him I 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'U mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA.* 

Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neiiks o' Killie,* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin. 
For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie,* 

Tam Samson's livin ! 

> The "Per Contra" was a peace-offering to the old sportsman, 
4ngry at his poetical dissolution. Burns retired to the window in 
Tam s apartment for a few minutes, and returned with this stanza 
on his lips. 

2 KiUie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes us© for the name 
of a certain town in the west [Kilmarnock], «-R. B. 

3 Sharp kuif ©. 



HALLOWEEN. 63 

HALLOWEEN. > 

The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough 
understood ; but for the sake of those who are unacquaint- 
ed with the manners and traditions of the country where 
the scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of 
the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with 
prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The 
passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the 
history of human nature, in its rude state, in all ages and 
nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philoso^ 
phic mind, if any such should honour the Author with # 
perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more unen* 
lightened in our own. — R. B. 

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 

The simple pleasures of the lowly train; 

To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 

One native charm, than all the gloss of art.— G^W^mit?^ 

Upon that night, when Fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans^ dance. 
Or owre the lays, ^ in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove^ to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonnie, winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin,^ clear, 
Where Bruce^ ance ruPd the martial rankf, 

An' shook his Carrick spear. 
Some merry, friendly, contra folks, 

Together did convene. 
To burn their nits, ^ an' pou their stocks, • 

An' baud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

1 Halloween is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and 
other mischief -making beings are all abroad on their baneful, mid- 
night errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said, 
on that night to hold a grand anniversary.— R. B. 

'^ Certain httle, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood 
of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.— R. B. ^ Fields. 

* A noted cavern near Colean-house. called the Cove of Colean; 
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for 
being a favourite haunt of fairies.— R. B. 

* Meandering. 

• The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the 
great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.— R. B. 

^ Nuts. « Plants of kail. 



64 BURJVS. 

The lasses feat,^ an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,' 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin : 
The lads sae trig,^ wi' wooer-babs,* 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whyles fast at night. 

Then, first, an' foremost, thro' the kail. 

Their stocks^ maun a' be sought ance : 
They steek their een, an' grape® an' wale,' 

For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'reP Will fell aff the drift, 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail,* 
An' pow't, ^° for want o' better shift, 

A runt" was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't^^ that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird^* or nane. 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther;^* 
The vera wee things, toddlin, rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custocs^^ sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs^^ they taste them; 
Syne coziely, ^^ aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw^® frae' mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn;^® 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks*^ about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 

1 Spruce. 2 Shewn. ^ Smart. * Garters knotted with loops. 

* The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant 
of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the 
first they meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is 
prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells 
—the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is 
tocher, or fortune ; and the taste of thecustoc, that is, the heart of the 
stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the 
stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are 
placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian 
names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, accord- 
ing to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question.— R. B. 
• Grope. "^ Choose. « Half-witted. » Cabbage. 

*o Pulled. 11 A cabbage stem. 

13 Crooked. ^^ Earth. i* In confusion, 

ifi Hearts of stems. i« Knives, i'^ Snugly, i^ Steal. 

i*> They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, 
a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the 
grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to th« 
marriage bed anything but a maid.— R. B. 20 podges. 



HALLOWEEN. 65 

He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin' in the fause-house^ 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet^ nits* 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided ; 
Some kindle, couthie,^ side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie® e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part ; 
Till, fuff ! he started up the lum,^ 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie® Mallie, 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,' 

To be compared to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor^^ by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min'," 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase*^ they're sobbin : 

^ Cuddling. 
^ When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, 
the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c., makes a large 
apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest 
exposed to the wind: this he calls a fause-house.— R. B. 

3 Well-hoarded. 
* Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and 
the lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire ; and ac- 
cordingly as they burn quietly together, or start from beside on^ 
another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.— R. B. 
* Loving. • Cautious. "^ The chimney. « Demure. 
» Pet. 10 Swore. " Mind. ^^ Ashes. 



BURNS. 

ITelPs heart was dancin at the view; 

She whispered Rob to leuk f or't : 
Bob, stownlins,^ prie'd^ her bonnie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
She leases* them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the banks,* 

And in the blue-clue* throws them, 
Bight fear't that night. 

An' aye she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin \^ 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quaukin V 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en'. 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier® that night. 

Wee Jennie to her Graimie says, 

** Will ye go wi' me Grannie? 
I'll eat the apple* at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnie ;" 
She fuff't*° her pipe wi' sic a lunt,^* 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin. 
She notic't na, an aizle^"^ brunt 

Her braw new worset'^ apron 

Out thro' that night. 

* By stealth. ^ Tasted. ^ Leaves. 

* Cross-beams. 

• Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe 
these directions:— Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling 
throw into the pot a clue of blue yam; wind it in a new clue ofif the 
joldone; and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread; 
/demand, Wha bauds? i. e., who holds? an answer will be returned 
from the kiln-pot, by naming the christian and surname of your 
future spouse.— R. B. 

• Dallying. '' Quaking. ® Inquire. 

• Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple be- 
fore it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the 
time: the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen ia 
the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.— R. B. 

»o Did blow. 11 Column of smoke. ^^ Hot cinder. 
13 Worsted. 



HALLOWEEN, 67 

** Ye little skelpie^-limmer's face I 

I daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

For him to spae'* your fortune ; 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten fright, 

An' liv'd an' di'd deleerit, ^ 

On sic a night. 

** Ae Hairst* afore the Sherra-moor/ 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey* then, I'm sure 

I was na past f yf teen : 
The simmer had been cauld an' WAt, 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

** Our stibble-rig"^ was Rab M^Graen^ 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Auchmacalla ; 
He gat hemp-seed,® I mind it weelj 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handf u' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try't that night. 

• A word of scolding. 2 Prophesy. ^ Delirious. ^ Harvest. 
» Sheriff-moor, the battle fought in the Rebellion, 1715. 
• A romping girl. '^ Head reaper. 

« Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed ; harrow- 
ing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat 
now and then, "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and 
him (or her) thatisto be my true-love, come after me and pou thee.'* 
Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the 
person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions 
Bay, "Come after me, and shaw thee," that is, show thyself: in 
which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, 
'•Come after me, and harrow thee."— R. B. 



68 BURN'S. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin;* 
The graip'^ he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls^ at his curpin:* 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

^^ Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, an' draw thee 

As fast this night.'* 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march, 

To keep his courage cheary ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch. 

He was sae fley'd^ an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grane an' giimtle ; 
He, by his shouther gae a keek,' 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle' 

Out-owre that night. 
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld came rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin® Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie^ Merran Humphie, 
Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 

Asteer^° that night 1 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething ;" 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

She put but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

And twa red-cheekit apples. 
To watch, while for the barn she sets. 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 

That vera night. 

^ Frightened. ^ Stable fork. ^ Drags. * Crupper. 
^ Scared. ^ A peep. '^ Stagger. ® Halting. * Crook-backed. 
10 Abroad. 
11 This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. 
You go to the barn, and open both doore, taking them off the hinges, 
if possible; for there is danger, that the being, about to appear, may 
shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instru- 
ment used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, w© 
call a wecht ; and go through all the attitudes of letting do-wTi com 
against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an ap- 
parition will pass through the bam, in at the windy door, and out at 
the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance of 
retinue marking the employment or station in life.— R. B. 



BALLOWEEN. 69 

She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ratton^ rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, Lord preserve her! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole^ an' a', 

An pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't^ out Will, with sair advice; 

They hecht* him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't^ thrice* 

Was timmer'^-propt from thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie,® auld moss-oak, 

For some black grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a vrinze,® an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes^" cam haurlin 

Aff's nieves^^ that night, 
A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie^^ as a kittlen; 
But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws,** 

She got a f earf u' settlin ! 
She thro' the wins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a bum/* 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays. 

As thro' the glen it whimpl't : 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays; 

Whyles in a wieP^ it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit^® underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 

' Rat. • Gutter at the bottom of a dung-hill. 

• Urged. * Foretold. » Fathomed. 

« Take an opportimity of going, unnoticed, to a bean-stack, and 

fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you 

will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal 

yoke-fellow.— K. B. 

T Timber. s Knotty. » Oath. lo Shreds. 1 

" Fists. 12 Merry. is Woods. 

1* You go out, one or more, (for this is a social spell,) to a south 
running spring or rivulet, where *' three lairds' lands meet," and 
dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang 
your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake ; and sometime near 
midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object 
in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side 
of it.— R. B. ifi Small whirlpool, or eddy. *« Appeared and vanished. 



iO BURNS. 

Amang the brachens, * on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an on tier Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon '? 
Poor Leezie's heart ma^st lap the hool:* 

Near lav'rock-heiglit she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs^ she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies^ three® are ranged; 
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom' dish thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheary; 
Till butter'd So'ns,® wi' fragrant lunt,* 

Set a' their gabs'" a steerin;" 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,*' 

They parted aff careerin^^ 

Fu' blythe that night. 

* Fern. ^ A deep moan. s Leaped out of the case. * Ears. 

* Small wooden dishes with handles. 

• Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, 
leave the third empty; blindfold a person, and lead him to the 
hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left 
hand; if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife 
will come to the bar of matrimony, a maid; if in the foul, a widow; 
if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage 
at all It is repeated three times; and every time the arrangement 
of the dir.hes is altered.— R. B. 

7 Empty. 
8 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Hal- 
loween supper.— R. B. Soweiis is a kind of oatmeal pudding. 
» Smoke. -o Mouths. i* A-stirring. 

12 Spirituous liquor of any kind. *' Cheerfully, 



THE yOLL V BEGGARS, 71 

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.' 

A CANTATA. 
RECITATITO. 

When lyart^ leaves bestrew the yird, 
Or, wavering like the bauckie^ bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast : 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch* drest ; 
Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

O' randie, gangreP bodies, 
In Poosie-Xansie's held the splore,* 
To drink their orra duddies ; 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang; 
Wr jumping and thimiping, 
The vera girdle^ rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 

Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order; 

His doxy lay within his arm, 

Wi' usquebae and blankets warm ; 

She blinket on her sodger ; 

An' aye he gies the tozie® drab 

The tither skelpin^ kiss, 

While she held up her greedy gab,*® 

Just like an aumous dish ;" 

Hk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup, 

Then staggering, and swaggering, 

He roar'd this ditty up — 

* Sir Walter Scott was unable to conceive any good reason why 
Dr. Currie did not introduce this Cantata into hi^ collection. For 
humorous description and nice discrimination of character, he 
thought it inferior to no poem of the same length in the whole range 
of Enghsh verse ; and the mirth of the songs, combined with the 
vividness of the pictures, he considered to be unequalled. This is 
very exaggerated praise ; and few readers. I should suppose, v.ill 
admit the truth of Scott's remark, that " even in describing the 
movements of such a group, the native taste of the poet has never 
suffered his pen to slide into anything coarse or disgusting." See 
Scott's " Prose Works." xvii. ^, Mr. Lockhart is yet more profuse 
of admiration, and doubts if Shakspeare, out of such materials, 
could have constructed a piece, '"in which the sympathy awakening 
power could have been displayed more triumphantly." And Allan 
Cunningham outstrips his predecessoi-s, by affirming that " nothing 
In the language, in Ufe and character, approaches this song." The 
*' Beggar s Opera '' being a "burial; compared to it." Surely this 
is the Durlesque of criticism, and onl}* brings it into contempt. 

^ Discoloured ^ Bat. * Hoar-frost. ^ Vagrant. * Frolic. 

• Til© iron plate for baking cakes. » Tipsy. •Slapping. *<> Mouth. 

*i The beggar's alm-disli. 



72 BURNS. 

AIR. 

TUNE— "soldier's JOT." 

I AM a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
jThis here was for a wench, and that other in a trench 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ;^ 
I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, 
And the Moro'^ low was laid at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, 
And there I left for witnesses an arm and a limb : 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliott to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now, though I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet* 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter 

shocks. 
Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home ; 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of h — at the sound of the drum. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars^ sheuk 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons* backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost^ bore : 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirled out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR. 

TUNE— "SOLDIER LADDIE." 

I ONCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men : 

> Quebec, where Wolfe fell. 

■ A Spanish castle taken by the English army, in 1762. » Rafter^ 

* Rats. ^ Inneiinost. 



THE JOLL Y BEGGARS, 73 

Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the goodly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
So the sword I forsook for the sake of the church; 
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body, 
'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified sot. 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despaii; 
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

And now I have liv'd — I know not how long, 

And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady^ 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATrVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk. 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They mind't na wha the chorus took. 

Between themselves they were sae bizzy; 
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy, 

He stoitered' up an' made a face ; 
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, 

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. 

AIR. 
TUNE— "AULD sir SIMON.'* 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 

But I am a fool by profession, 
1 Staggered. 



74 BURNS. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 

And I held awa to the school ; 
I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool? 

For drink I would venture my necK; 

A hizzie's the half o' my craft ; 
But what could ye other expect, 

Of ane that's avowedly daft? 

I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, * 
For civilly swearing and quaffing; 

I ance was abused i' the kirk, 
For touzling a lass i' my daffin.^ 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 

Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 
There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' tJie Court, 

A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 

Maks faces to tickle the mob ; 
fie rails at our mountebank squad, 

It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 

For faith I'm confoundedly dry; 
The chiel that's a fool for himsel', 

Gude Lord, is far dafter than L 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,' 
Wha' kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling 
For monie a pursie she had hooked. 
And had in monie a well been ducked ; 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa the waefu' woodie !* 
Wi' sighs and sabs, she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman: 

AIR. 
TUNE— *'0, AN YE WERE DEAD, QUIDMAN.** 

A HiGKLAND lad my love was bom, 
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn : 
But he still was faithful to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

> Bullock. 2 Merriment. ^ gtout old woman. « A rop«L 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 75 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey, my braw John HighlandmanI 
Sing, ho, my braw John HighlandmanI 
There's no a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
And gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lawlan face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh I they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every ane, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman* 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfoi-t but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle,' 

Her strappin limb and gaucy^ middle 

(He reach'd nae higher), 
Had holed his heartie like a riddle, 

And blawn't on fire. 

WP hand on haunch, and upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, ane, twa, three, 

* Play. a Jolly. 



76 BURNS, 

Then, in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set aff , wi' Allegretto glee, 

His giga solo. 

AIK. 

TUNE — "whistle O'ER THE LAVE O'T.'* 

Let me ryke^ up to dight^ that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your eveiy care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHOKUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there, 
And oh ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about, till Daddie Care 
Sings Whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

Sae merrily 's the banes we'll pyke,' 
And sun oursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, 
And while I kittle'* hair on thairms, 

Himger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,* 

As well as poor gut- scraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a rusty rapier — 

He swoor, by a' was swearing worth. 

To speet him like a pliver. 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

/teach. * Wipe. ^ pick. * While I apply hair to catgut.— CAam- 
bers. ^ Gipsy. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS, 77 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face, 

And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 

When round the tinkler prest her, 
He feign'd to snirtle^ in his sleeve, 

"When thus the Caird addressed her; 



AIR. 

TUNE— "CLOUT THE CAUDRON." 

My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation ; 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin. 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron ; 
And by that stoup, my faith and houp^ 

And by that dear Kilbagie, ^ 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie.^ 

And by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The Card prevail'd — ^th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk. 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That show'd a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

And made the bottle clunk. 

To their health that night. 

• tiftugD. • A peculiar sort of whisky. « ThroaK 



78 BURNS. 

But liurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie,* 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Ahint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o- Homer's craft, 

Tho' limping wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd" up, and lap like daft, 

And shor'd^ them Dainty Davie 

O' boot that night. 

He was a care-defjdng blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortime sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad, 

For want but — when he thirsted; 
He hated nought but — to be sad, 

And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night. 

AIR. 
TUNE— "FOR A* THAT, AND A' THAT." 

I AM a bard of no regard 

Wi' gentlefolks, an' a' that; 
But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,* 

Frae town to town I draw that 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as meikle's a' that; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 
I've wife enough for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank,* 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that : 
But there it streams, and richly reami, 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Theu' humble slave, an' a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

J Trick. 2Qrept. 'Threatened. ♦ Staring crowd. •FooL 



THE JOLL V BEGGARS. 79 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wr mutual love, an' a' that ; 
But for how lang the flie may stang, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 

They've ta'en me in, and a' that; 
But clear your decks, and ' ' Here's the Sex, 

I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a' that, 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome till't, for a' that. 



KECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's^ wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth; 
They toom'd'- their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds,' 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,* 

To quench their lowan^ drought. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack, an' wale® a sang, 
A ballad o' the best ; 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 

TUNE—' 

See I the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ; 
Round and round take up the chorus. 

And in raptures let us sing : 

> Poosie Nansie, otherwise Affnes Gibson, kept a sort of cadger'i 
house, nearly opposite to the church-yard gate in Mauchline. Wo 
are told by the biographers of Burns, that passing by the house, one 
nieht, In the company of James Smith, he was allured by the mirth- 
ful uproar to go in and join the crew. The Cantata gives the poetical 
experience of the night. 

a Emptied. « Rags. * Tails. 

* Flaming. « Choose. 



80 BURNS. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected I 
Liberty's a glorious feast ! 

Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title? what is treasure? 

What is reputation's care? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where 1 

A fig, (fee. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round w^e wander all the day ; 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rove? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love? 

A fig, &a 

Life is all a varionun, 

We regard not how it goes ; 

Let them cant about decorum, 
Who have characters to lose. 

A ^g^ &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets 1 

One and all cry out. Amen ! 

A fig, &c. 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SAL. 
UTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE. ON 
GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN 
TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. 

A GUiD New-Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp^ to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit^ now, an' knaggie,' 

I've seen the day. 
Thou could hae gane like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

* Handful. * Sunk in the back. ^ Sharp-pointed. 



THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION-. 81 

Tho' now thou's dowie, ^ stiff, and crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie, 

A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly,^ steeve,^ an' swank,* 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out owre a stank,* 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an' -twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid-f ather's meere ; 
He gie me thee o' tocher^ clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark."' 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ;• 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, cannie, 

An' unco sonsie.^ 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure^'^ hame my bonnie bride; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide. 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow^^ but hoyte and hobble^ 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, ^^ 
That day ye was a j inker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran' them till they a' did wauble,^* 

Far, far, behin'. 

When thou an' I were young and skeigh,** 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, ^^ 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,^* 

An' ca't thee mad. 

> Worn out. * Stout-made. ^ strong-set. * Stately. • Morasa 
• Marriage portion. "^ Stout, « Unlucky. * Easily handled. 
>• Did bear, ^^Can. 12 gaimon flshing boat. " ReeL • 
** High-mettled. i^ Xedious. *• At a safe distance. 



82 BURNS. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow^ 
We took the road ay like a swallow: 
At Brooses^ thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpPt, ^ hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins^ waur't thee for a brattle ;* 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gart them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',* 

As e'er in tug^ or tow^ was drawn I 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't,® an' fech't," an' fliskit^** 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-filled briske^ 

Wi' pith an' pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes" wad rair't and riskit, 

An' slypet^^ owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep. 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog^^ a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer; 
I ken'd my Maggie wadna sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 

The steyest^* brae thou wad hae face't it; 

Thou never lap," an' sten't,' and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't" awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did 'draw; 

1 A broose is a race at a wedding. 

• That droops at the crupper. s Perhaps. * Short race. 

* The near horse of the hindmost pair in the plough. 

•Traces of hide. "^ Rope. * Plunged forward. ^ Pulled bfAtA 

- »• Fretted. h Rushy hillocks. "FeUorer. 

^3 Manp-er. i* Steepest. i» Leaped. 

*• Reared. ^^ Went at an even i>ao«. 



TO A MOUSE. 

Porbye sax mae, IVe sell't awa, 

That thou has nirst: 

They drew me thretteen^ pund an' twa, 
The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk' we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warV fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservm, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin', 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart,' I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither 
We'll toyte* about wi' ane anither; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some ham'd* t\^, 
Whare ye may nobly rax' your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



83 



TO A MOUSE ON TUEKma HER UP IN HEB 
SeST, WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.^ 
Wee, eleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle r 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattlel' 

I'm trulv sorrv man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
An' justifies that ill opinion. 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal I 

1 Thirteen, « Day^s labour. « Eighth P^^t o^ a^^^^^^^' 
...ann*s^?^llf. lately ^^"^^^^^^ ^B^.Z^^^ 



S4 BURNS. 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun liv«! 
A daimen-icker^ in a thrave 

'S a sma' request: 
ni get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't I 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin I 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ! 
An' naething, now, to big^ a new ane, 

O' foggage green 1 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snelP an' keen I 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash 1 the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble 1 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald/ 
To thole* the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranrouch'' cauldl 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,' 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, 

Gang aft a-gky,® 
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Btill thou art blest, compar'd wi' me I 
The present only toucheth thee ; 
But, Och I I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear 1 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 

« An ear of corn now and then*, a thrave is twenty-four sheaves 
» Build. 8 Bitter. < Without abiding place. * Endure. • Hoai^ 
tro«t. » Thyself alone. •Wrong. 



A WINTER NIGHT. ^ 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

Poor naked wret<;hes, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm I 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you, 
From seasons such as these ? Shakspear^ 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure,^ 
Sharp .shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift,'* 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths^ up-choked 

Wild-eddying swirl. 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,* 

Down headlong hurl 

Listening the doors an' winnocks* rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie® cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing," sprattle/ 

Beneath a scar. 

Hk happing^ bird, wee, helpless thing ! 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering^'' wing, 

An' close thy e'e? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd. 

Lone from your savage homes exiPd, 

rhe blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 

> Sullen. 3 The sky, ' Drifted heaps of snow. * Flung out. 
• Windows. • Shivering. ^ Deep wading. 

• Scramble. * Hopping. ^° Shivering. 



S6 BURNS. 

Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 

When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole — 

**Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, shows 

More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 

Vengeful malice, unrepenting, 
Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows* 

See stern Oppression's iron grip. 
Or mad Ambition's gory hand. 

Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! 

Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
• Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 

The parasite empoisoning her ear. 

With all the servile wretches in the rear. 
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 

And eyes the simple rustic hind. 

Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 

A creature of another kind. 

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below I 

Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 

With lordly Honour's lofty brow. 
The pow'rs you proudly own? 

Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 

Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 
To bless himself alone ! 

Mark maiden-innocence a prey 
To love-pretending snares. 

This boasted Honour turns away. 

Shunning soft Pity's rising sway. 
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rsl 

Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest 

She strains your infant to her joyless breast. 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast! 
Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down. 

Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 

Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 

Hi-satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 87 

Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

Chill o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! 

Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 

Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine! 

Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 

But shall thy legal rage pursue 

The wretch, already crushed low 

By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; "* 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss I 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And haird the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage -rousing craw.^ 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Thro' all His works abroad. 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



EPISTLE TO DAYIE,^ A BROTHER POET. 

January, 1784 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, '^ 
I sat me down, to pass the time. 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme. 

In ham.ely, westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla-lug,^ 
I grudge a v/ee the great folk's gift, 
That live sae bien^ an' snug: 
I tent^ less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 

^ Crow. 

^ Davie was David Sillar, the author of a book of Scottish verses. 
Gilbert Burns writes respeetins^ his brother: — It was, I think, in 
summer 1784, when, in the iiitej'val of harder labour, he and I were 
weeding: in the garden (kail-yard), that he repeated to me the prin- 
cipal part of this Epistle. I believe the first idea of Robert's becom 
ing author was started on this occasion. 

» Fire-place. * To the parlour hearth. ^ Plentiful. « Heed. 



88 BUR "vS, 

It's hardly in a body's povV, 

To keep, at times, frae being soai^ 

To see how things are shar-d ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want^ 
While coofs on countless thousands ritnt, 

And ken na how to wair't ;^ 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash^ your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and fier:^ 
*^Mair spier na, nor fear na,"* 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,* 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en. 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, gi-eat distress ! 
Yet then content could mak us blest; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba',** 
Has aye some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hal'? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daises deck the ground. 

And blackbh'ds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then. 

We'll sit and sowth^ a tune ; 
Syne' rhyme till't,' we'll time till't. 
And sing't when we hae done. 

3 Spend it. ^ Trouble. ^ Sound. 

4 Ramsay.— R. B. ^ pig. « Ball 

' Whistle over. ^Then. »Toit 



EPISTLE TO DA VIE. 8d 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in making muckle mair : 
It's no in books; it's no in lear,* 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great^ 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart aye's the part aye, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent'-* us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 
Baith careless, and fearless, 
Of either heav'n or hell I 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less. 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 
They let us ken oursel' ; 
They make us see the naked truth| 
The real guid and ill, 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'U get there, 
Ye'U find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,* 

1 Learning. > Heed. Cardf. 



90 BURNS, 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joj^s for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's'a' W\q pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, * your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, '^ 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more f ondl}^ dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow I 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a fnend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene. 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean. 

O, how that name inspires my style! 
The words come skelpin, ^ rank and file, 

I "Meg" was Margaret Orr, the nursery -maid of Mrs Stewart oi 
SUtir.— A. C, 

' Adds fuel. •'' Marching lightly. 



THE LAMENT. 91 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nme 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet^ Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch,^ and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the teast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll L'ght now, and dight^ now 
His sweaty, wizen'd* hide. 



THE LAIVIENT/ 

OCCASIONID BT THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OP i. FRIEKD'S AKOUR. 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
And Sweet Affection prove the spring of woe I 

Home. 

THOU pale Orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines. 
And wanders here to wail and weep 1 

With woe I nightly vigils keep, 
Beneath thy wan un warming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep. 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view the rays adorn 

The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease! 
Ah I must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feigned poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 

No shepherd's pipe — Ai-cadian strains ; 
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame. 

» Spavined. ^ Hobble. ^ ^ipe. 4 Shrunk. 

• It is scarcely necessary to mention, that "Th^ Lament" was 
composed on that unfortunate passage in his matrimonial history, 
whicn I have mentioned in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, after the first 
distraction of his feelings had a little subsided.— G.B. 



&-2 BURNS, 

The plighted faith ; the mutual flame : 
The oft attested pow'rs above ; 

The promised Father's tender name : 
These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
How have I wished for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my gi'oan? 

And is she ever, ever lost? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth. 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd. 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasui-'d thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy 'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The mom that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array. 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow, 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low. 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try. 

Sore harass'd out with care and grief. 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear- worn eye. 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief ; 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief. 

Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright: 
Ev'en day, all-bitter, brings relief. 

From siich a^horror-breathing night. 



DESPONDENCY, 93 

O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er the expanse 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway 1 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observed us, f ondly-wand'ring, stray 1 
The time, imheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale I wander thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll moiu*n 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

Oppeess'd with grief, oppressed with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh ; 
O life ! thou art a galling load. 
Along a rough, a weary road. 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 
What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro' 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny^d, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd. 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 

And joyless morn the same ; 



94 BURNS. 

You, l)U3tling, and justling, 
Forget each grief and pain ; 

I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 
Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling rootg, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

I3y unfrequented stream. 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising, 

His thoughts to Heaven on high, 
As wand'iing, meandering, 
He views the solemn sky. 
Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joya^ 

Which I too keenly taste. 
The Solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be l3lest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days. 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's max*, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or m.y own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When manhood is your wish 1 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage, 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim -declining age! 



THE COTTER'S SA TURD A V NIGHT 95 

WINTER. 

A DIRGE. 

The wintery west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw ; 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars f rae bank to brae ; 
ind bird and beast in covert rest. 

And pass the heartless day, 

*^The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"* 

The joyless winter-day, 
ijct others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May ; 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are Thy vdll I 
Then all I want (Oh ! do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny. 

Assist me to resign. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBEKT AIKEN, ESQ. ,2 OF AYR. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the Poor.— (rr«y. 

My lov'd, my honoured, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end ; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise 

'Dr. Young.— R. B. 
*Mr. Aiken was a " writer " in Ayr; Gilbert Burns affectionately 
notices him in a letter to Currie, as a man of worth and taste, and 
warm affections, and who eagerly spread among his friends the 
merits of the new Poet, 



06 BURNS, 

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 
The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there I ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;^ 

The short'ning winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating f rae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the mom in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher^ thro', 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin^ noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clane hearth -stane, his thriitie wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary-carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

Belyve,* the elder bairns come drapping in. 

At service out, amang the farmers roim' ;* 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie" rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers; 

The social hours, swift- wing'd, unnoticed fleet; 
Each tells the uncos^ that he sees or hears ; 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

> Rushine sound. ^ Stagger. ^Tluttering. * By and by. 
^* Althougn the "Cotter," in the Saturday Night, is an exact copy 
•f my father in his manners, his family devotions, and exhortationg, 
vet the other parts of the description do not apply to our family. 
None of us ever were "At service out amang the neebors roun." 
Instead of our depositing our "sair-won penny-fee" with our parents, 
my father laboured hard, and lived with the most rigid economy, 
that he might be able to keep his children at home.— Giitcrt Bum^ 
to Dr. Ourrie, Oct. 21, 1800. 

• Cautious, ^ News. 



THE COTTER'S SA TURD A Y NIGHT. 97 

Anticipation forward point«i the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, 

Gars^ anld claes look amaist as weel's the new; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonit/on due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent* hand. 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play. 
** An', oh! be sure to fear the Lord ahvay, 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night I 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Lnplore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the :'^rH aright I'* 

But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his nam^^ 

While Jenny hafl3.ins^ is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild wnrViless 
rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks* of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'ei-flows wi' joy. 

But, blate^ and laithfu',® scarce can weel behave; 
The woman, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashf u' an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lar^r 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
** If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning 
gale !" 

1 Makes. a Diligent. 3 Half. * Talks. 

* Bashful. e Sheepish. ' The rest. 

1 



I BURNS. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch I a villain ! lost to love and truth I 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth I 

Are honom', virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
Then pants the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wildc 

But now the supper crowns their simple board. 

The halesome panitch, chief o' Scotia's food: 
The soupe their only hawkie^ does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan"^ snugly chows her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd^ kebbuck,* fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 'twas a towmond^ auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.* 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets'' wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales^ a portion with judicious care ; 
And *' Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tuue their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps *' Dundee's " wild warbling measures rise. 

Or plaintive " Martyrs," worthy of the name; 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heav'nward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian thrills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise, 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 

Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungi'acious progeny ; 

Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 

* CJow. 2 Partition waU. 3 Well-saved. * Chee«#. 

• ▲ twelvemonth. « Since the flax was in flower. 

7 Grey locks. » chooses. > '»; * . 



THE COTTER'S SA TURD A Y NIGHT 99 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head: 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heav'n'l 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope '^ springs exulting on triumphant wing,"' 

That thus they all shall meet in future days: 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert. 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent- pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request. 
That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest. 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride ; 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best 

For them, and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

L. of CI Pope's *' WiJidsor Forest."-'R. B, 



100 BUR^S. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; 

** An honest man's the noblest work of God;" 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined I 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent I 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 
And, oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward 1) 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard I 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. > 

A DIRGE. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare. 
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth 

Along the barks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

1 Several of the poems were produced for the purpose of bringinfi 
forward some favourite sentiment of the author. He used to re* 
mark to me, that he could not well conceive a more mortifying pic-, 
tare of human life than a man seeking work. In casting about in 
his mind how this sentiment might be brought forward, the ela^y, 
"Man was made to mourn." was composed.— G. B. 



MAN Was made to mourn. loi 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou? 

Began the rev 'rend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 

The sun that overhangs yon moors. 

Out-spreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Oh man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force give nature's law. 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right. 
But see^im on the edge of life, 

Witlr^ares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want, oh! ill-match'd pair! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame! 



102 BURNS. 

And man, whose heav'n erected fact 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhmnanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn I 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow- worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

K I'm design'd yon lordling's slav©— i 

By Nature's law design'd, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn? 

Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born. 
Had there not been some recompence 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn !* 

^ Whatever might be the casual idea that set the poet to work, It fa 
l»ut too evident that he wrote from the habitual feelings of his own 
bosom. The indignation with which he contemplated the inequality 
of human condition, and particularly the contrast between his owa 
worldly circumstances and intellectual rank, was never more bit* 
terly nor more loftily expressed than in some of these stani^a.--- 
Lockhart 



STANZAS. 103 

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. ^ 

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whoee dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear 1 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me, 

With passions wild and strong ; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have. 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION.' 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ! 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms ; 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms : 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, '' Forgive my foul offence 1" 
Fain promise never more to disobey ; 

But, should my Author health again dispense, 
Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 

Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

* Burns has entitled his verses, "A prayer, when fainting fits, and 
other alarming symptoms of pleurisy, or some other dangerous disor- 
der, which indeed still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm." 

2 August, [1874,] Misgivings in the hour of Despondency an(i 
prospect of Death, 



BURNS, 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heav'nly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heav'nly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have moum'd, yet to temptation ran? 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

And still the timiult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine, 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



LYING AT A REYERElSrD FRIEISTD'S HOUSE ONE 
NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING 
VERSES IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.' 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! 

I know Thou wilt me hear; 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

T\ie hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ; 
To bless his little filial flock. 

And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears. 
Oh, bless her with a mother's joys. 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's da^wning blush; 
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish. 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band. 

With earnest tears I pray. 
Thou knows't the snares on ev'ry hand. 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 

1 The first time Robert heard the spinnet played upon was at the 
house of Dr. Lawrie, then ministei- of the parish of Loudon, now in 
Glasgow, having given up the parish in favour of his son. Dr. Law- 
rie has several daughters ; one of them played ; the father and 
mother led down the dance ; the rest of the sisters, the brother, the 
poet, and the other guests, mixed in it. It was a delightful family 
scene for our poet, then lately" introduced to the world. His mind 
was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the Stanzas were left in the 
room where he slept. — G. B. 



THE FIRST PSALM. 105 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 



The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he, whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast. 

And like the rootless stubble tost, 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIO- 
LENT ANGUISH.^ 

O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

March, 1784. 
» There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was broke 
by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened, and indeed 
effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. My body too was attacked 
by that most dreadful disorder, a hypochondria, or confii-med mel 
ancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of which makes 
me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the willow trees, except in 
some lucid intervals, in on 3 of which I composed the following.— 
R. B. 

E* 



1.06 BURNS. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
AH wretched and distrest; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 
To suit some wise design; 

Then man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine I 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH 

PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rou: globe itself. 

Arose at Thy command ; 

That pow'r, which rais'd and still upholdt 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years, 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, man^ 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say 'st, * * Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought !" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down, it lies 

All withered and decay 'd. 



TO A MOUXTAIN DAISY, 107 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786,1 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem: 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem, 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, ^ companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' speckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, 
But thou, beneath the random bield^ 

O' clod, or stane, 
Adorns the histie* stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies I 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

> The Daisy grew in the field next to that in which the plough had 
turned up the mouse's nest. 

2 I have seldom met with an image more truly pastoral than that 
of the lark in the second stanza. Such strokes as these mark the 
pencil of the poet, which delineates Nature ^vith the precision of 
'""■ " ' -. . andtaste.— H, 



mtimacy. j^et with the delicate colouring of beauty 
Mackenzie, in '*The Lounger," No. 97. 3 shelter. * 



Dry. 



108 BURNS. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On hfe's rough ocean luckless starr'd! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er I 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To misery's brink, 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fat J is thine — no distant late ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight. 

Shall be thy doom I 



TO RUIN/ 

All hail I inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring, and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorred. 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh! hear a wretch's pray'r! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 

1 1 have here enclosed a small piece, the very latest of my pro- 
ductions. I am a good deal pleased with some sentiments myself, 
asthey are just the native quei-ulous feehngs of a heart which. a» 
the elegantly melting Gray says, "Melancholy has marked lor nep 
own. ' '—To Mr. Kennedy, April 20, 1786. 



TO MISS LOGAN. JOJ 

"When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day : 
My weary heart its throbbing cease, 
Cold mouldering in the clay? 
No fear more, no tear more. 
To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace I 



TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEATTIE^S POEMS, 

AS A NEW year's GIFT, JANUARY 1, ?.787, 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driven, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prima 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear Maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.' 

MAT, 1786. 

\ LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject- theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, 

And Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 

'Andrew Aiken, of Ayr, son of the friend to whom Bums inscribed 
The Cotter's Saturday Night." 



110 BURNS. 

For care or trouble set your thought, 
Ev'n when your end's attained ; 

And a' your views nlay come to nought^ 
Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I'll no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few reetricked: 
But, Och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha^ fa'^ in fortune's strife^ 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith^ hovuly stare him; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Aye free, aff-han'* your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection; 
But keek^ thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe^ o' weel-plac'd lore, 

Luxuriantly indulge it; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin. 

The hazard o' concealing; 
But, Och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smil% 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify'd Ijy honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

iWho «FaU. 8 Poverty. -* off -hand. ^Peep. •Warn©, 



ON A SCOTCH BARD. HI 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, 

To baud the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honour grip, 

Let that aye be your border ; 
Its slightest touches, instant paus«— 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended 1 

When ranting round in pleasure's ling, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor I 

Adieu, dear, amiable Youth! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting I 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth. 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, * ^ God send you speed,** 

Still daily to grow wiser; 
And may you better reck the rede,* 

Than ever did th' Adviser I 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES 

A' YE wha live by sowps^ o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,* 
A' ye wha live an' never think, 

Come mourn wi* met 
Our billieV gien us a' a jink,* 

An' owre the sea. 

» Heed the counsel "Spoonsful. « Rhymea «Ourbrolheft 

* Dodge. 



113 BURNS. 

Lament him a' ye rantin core,* ^ 

Wha dearly like a random-splore,* 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, 

In social key; 
For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the seal 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him 

Wi' tearf u' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the seal 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy bummle,* 
Wha can do nought but fyke* an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg* as ony wumble, " 

That's owre the sea! 

Auld, cantie Kyle^ may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders® flee ; 
He was her Laureat monie a year, 

That's owre the seal 

He saw misfortune's cauld Nor- west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
A jillet* brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock,** 
On scarce a belly fu' o' drummock," 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't" his hurdles in a hammock. 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding. 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding, 

He dealt it free: 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owie the sea. 

•Corps. «Riot. 'Blunderer. * Fuss. * Sharp. •AwimWik 

^ Kilmarnock. » Shi'eds. 

• JUt. J« Staft. i i Meal and water. la Wrapped. 



7X} A HAGGIS. 113 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap^ him in a cozie biel ;- 
Ye'U find him ay' a dainty chiel, 

And fu' o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That's owre the sea, 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie I 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie I 
m toast ye in my hindmost gillie, ^ 

Tho' ower the seal 



TO A HAGGIS.* 



Fair fa' your honest sonsie face. 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race 1 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, ^ or thalrm; 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the devrs distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight, ^ 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch; 
And then, what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich! 

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swalPd" kytes'' belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,^ 

''Bethankit" hums. 

' Cover. ' Shelter. ^ Diminutive of gill 

• A 'dish which is only known or relished in Scotland. It is said to 
be composed of minced mutton, oatmeal, and suet; but a South- 
ron re€kacr will not desire a particular receipt. 

* Small entrails. « Wipe. ^ Swelled. » Stomachs. » Burst. 



114 BURXS-. 

Is there that o'er Ms French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw^ a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner,* 
Looks down wi' sneering, scomfu' view 

On sic^ a dinner ! 

Poor devil I see him owre his trashy 
As feckless^ as a wither'd rash. 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve* a nit ;* 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit I 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie^ nieve a blade. 

He'll mak it whissle; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sued,' 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggiesf 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 

Gie her a Haggis. 



A DEDICATION TO GAVrS" HA^HLTOX, ESQ. 

Expect na. Sir. in this narration 

A fieechin," fleth'rin'^^ Dedication, 

To roose you up. an' ca' you guid. 

An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 

Because ye're sumam'd like His Grace, 

Perhaps related to the race ; 

Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 

Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 

Set up a face, how I stop short • 

For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' them whft 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ;^^ 
For me I sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough; 

> Surfeit. 2 Loathing. ' Weak. •* Fist. • Nol • 

• Large. • Lop. » Splashes in -wooden dishes. 
• Supphcatlng. 1® Flattenng. ^i BellTful. 



A DEDICATIOy. 115 

Ajid ^hen I downa yoke a naig/ 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp^ him! 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

^ The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, » 

I winna lie, come what will o' me), 
I On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 

He's just — nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it-, 
Aught he can lend he'll no refus't. 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang: 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Kae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
Its naething but a milder feature 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That's he's the poor man's friend in ne^d, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of damnation; 
Its just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane. 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust ii 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack,* 
Abuse a brother to his back; 

Steal thro' a winnock* frae a 

But point the rake that taks the door ; 
'Hone 'Strike. » An old Scotch coin. « Window 



116 BURNS, 

Be to the poor like onie whunstane,' 
And baud their noses to the grunstane, 
Ply ev'ry art of legal thieving; 
Nae matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile graces, 
Wi' Tveel-spread looves,^ an' lang, wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
For gumlie^ dubs^ of your ain delvin! 
Ye sons of heresy and en'or, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the lire throws the sheath; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him: 
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans. 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones. 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper^ 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to you ; 
Because (you need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursal. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray : 
But that's a word I need na say: 
For prayin I hae little skill o't; 
I'm baith dead-sweer,' an' wretched ill o't;* 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r. 
That kens or hears about you. Sir, — 

*'May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk I 

'Wliinstone. 2 Hands. 'Muddy. * Ponds. * Extremely arena 

« Of it. ' 



A DEDICATION'. Hr 

\ May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 

For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far honoured name 
Lang beet^ his hymeneal flame ; 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
Ajid seven braw fellows, stout and able, 
To serve their King and Country weel. 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! : 

May health and peace, with mutual rayg, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee, curiie John's ier-oe,' 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last sad mournful rites bestow ! " 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wr complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours, 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor? 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'nt 
While recollection's pow'r is given. 
If, in the vale of humble life. 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognise my Master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend and Brother! 

» Add fuel to. • Crreat grandchild. 



118 BURNS. 



TO A , OX SEEING OXE ON A LADY'S BON- 
NET AT CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie I* 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt^ rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace; 
The' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit^ upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith,^ in some beggar's haffet* squattle; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle* 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ^ 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantationfi. 

Now hand ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils," snug an' tight; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow 'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nos^ x^ut, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet :® 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum,* 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your drodi^um !^' 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;" 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On 's wyliecoat :^'* 
But Miss's fine Lunardi!^^ fie, 

How daur ye do't? 

^ ^V'onder. 2 stmt. » Foot. * (xet »va7. 

* Temple. * Scramble. ' Ribbon-ends. ® Grooseberry. ^ Powder. 
^0 Breech. ^^ An old-fashioned head-dress. 12 riann«i Ycr^t. 
*' A bonnet, named aftt^r Lunardi, whose balloon made him 00^ 
rious in Scotland abu^.r i785. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. llD 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's^ makini 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

-^•e notice takin ! 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 

To see oursels as others see us ! 

It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e ua, 

And ev'n Devotion 1 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat I 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tidt, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind^ 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name 1 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 
Gay as the gilded summer sky. 

Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 
Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy I 

> The shrivelled dwarf. 



120 BURNS. 

Fair Burnet^ strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine, 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 
And own his work indeed divine ! 

There watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar: 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar: 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come 1 

Their royal name low in the dust! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam I 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas justl 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps. 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruiu'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowr's, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring nours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

> Daughter of Lord Monboddo. Burns said there had not "b^en 
anything like her, in beauty, grace, and goodness, since £?«oi: tL« 
first day of her existence. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 121 



EPISTLE TO JOHX LAPRAIK, AN OLD 
SCOTTISH BARD.^ 

April 1st. 1786. 

While briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks^ scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie^ whiddin* seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockinj 

And there was muckle fim and jokin, 

Ye need na doubt; 
At length we had a hearty yokin^ 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirrd*' the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describes sa weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, ^' Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark?" 
'They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muh'kirk, 

It pat me fidgin-fain^ to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 

1 The "Epistle to John Lapraik" was produced exactly on the 
occasion devSciibed by the author. Re says in that poem, "On 
fasten-e'en we had a rockin." I beUeve he has omitted the word 
rocking in the glossary. It is a term derived from those primitive 
times, when the country-women employed their spare hours in 
spinning on the rock, or distaff. This simple implement is a very 
portable one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in 
a neighbour's house; hence tht^ phrase of going a-rocking or ^vith the 
rock. As the connexion the phrase had Mith the implement was 
forgotten when the rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase 
came to be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talked^ 
of going with their rocks as well as v^omen. It was it one of these 
rockings at our house, when v\-e had twelve or fifteen young peonle 
with their rocks, that Lapraik's song, beginning. "^Vhen I upon thy 
bosom lean." was sung, and we v\'ere informed who was the author. 
Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to Lapraik; and his second 
in reply to his ans^ver.— G. B. 

2 Patridges. 3 Hare. * Running. ^ a bout. 

« ThriUed. ' Very anxious, 

F 



122 BURNS. 

Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd 
He had ingine, ^ 

That nane excelPd it, few cam near^t, 
It was sae fine; 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale. 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, and swoor an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith,' 

Or die a cadger pownie's^ death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo- jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough. 
Yet crooning* to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneucrh. 



O' 



I am nae Poet, in a sense. 

But just a Rhymer like, by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, ^ ' How can you e'er propose, 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang?" 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

"What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs^ your grammar^**? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin^-hammers. 

^ Genius. ^ And gear. ^ Carrier pony. * Humming. 

* Serves. « Stone-breaking. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 123 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes,^ 
Confuse their brains in college classes I 
They gang in stirks,' and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne' they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then tho' I drudge thro' dub* an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart, 

for a spunk^ o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

K I can hit it I 
That would be lear® eneugh for me, 

K I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I blieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou,^ 

Fse no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose* me, 

Tho' I maun own, as monie still 
As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather,® 
An' hae a swap^° o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

» Lonts. 3 Cows. * Then. * Pond. * A spark. 

• Learning. '' Full, s Praise. • Meet. ^^ Exchange. 



124 BURNS. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 

An' kirsen^ him wi' reekin water : 

Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter,' 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish warly^ race, 

Wha think that havins,* sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack 1 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

'^Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers I 

But to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle. 

Who am, most fervent. 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME.* 

April 2lBt, 1786. 

While new-ca'd kye® rout'' at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,* 
This hour on e'enin's* edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor. 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket^® sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours' bite, 
My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 



Christen. 2 Hearty draught. ^ Worldly. * Good mi 

» In answer to verses which Lapraik had sent. 
Cows. '' Low. 3 Harrow. ^ Evening's. 1® 



%^^ 



TO THE SAME. 125 

The tapetless,^ ramfeezl'd'^ hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, ^' Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 

An' something sair." 

Her dowff ^ excuses pat me mad ; 

'* Conscience," says I, ^^ ye thowless* jad! 

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade. 

But rhyme it right, 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes,^ 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet, ye'll neglect to shaw your parts. 

An' thank him kindly 1" 

See I gat paper in a blink, 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, * ' Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it ; 
An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

By Jove, I'll prose it I" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof ; 
But I shall scribble down some blether® 

Just clean aff-loof/ 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle® up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp ; 

She's but a b — h. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,® 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow P" 

I Foolish. « Tired. ^ giny. * Lazy. » Cards. « Nonsenses 
T Unpremeditated. ^ Tickle. » Kick. lo ca^. 



126 BURNS. 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
IVe seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,* 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 

Behind a kist^ to lie and sklent, ^ 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent, 

An' muckle wame,* 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name? 

Or is't the paughty, ^ feudal Thane, 

Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, 

Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en, 

As by he walks? 

** O Thou wha gies us each guid gift I 

Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride !'* 

Were this the charter of our state, 
** On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be om* fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran. 
When first the human race began, 
" ITie social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

And none but he 1" 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine, 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line . 

Are dark as night. 

1 Skittish girl. 2 Counter. s Deceive. * Bellj. 

* Haughty. 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, VZt 

Tho' here they scrape^ an' squeeze, an' growl. 
Their worthless nievefu'^ of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year I 



TO WILLIMI SBIPSON,' 



OCHILTREE. 



May, 1T9^ 



I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad b. silly, 

An' uncc vaiHj 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie,' 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented* 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it| 
I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,* 
Should I but dare a hope to speel,* 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfiel',' 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cai-tes 

Wad stow'd his pantry I) 

Handful. 2 Schoolmaster of Ochiltree. ^ Brother 

* Sidelons: flung, * Be crazed. • Climb. 

' Allan Ramsay and Hamilton of Gilbertfield. 



128 BURNS. 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head 

Or lasses gie my heait a screed, ' 

As whiles they're like to be my deed, 

(O sad disease 1) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila, now, may fidge* fu' fain^ 

She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,* 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise, 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd stile ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle, 

Beside New Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Bamsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Ower Scotland rings. 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunef u' line 1 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Whare Glorious Wallacf 
Aft bure* the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless father's strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod,* 

Or glorious dy'd. 

latent. 2 Bg right glad. » "vvill not spare the bagpipe* 

* pid bear. * Walking in blood over tne shoe-tops. 



TO WILLIAM SIMjf>SOM 129 

0, sweet are Coila's haughs' an' woods, 
When lintwhites' chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin^ hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While the' the braes the cushat croods* 

Wi' wailfu' cryl 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked fcree; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day I 

O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms 

To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms 1 

Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night 1 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand^ her, 
Till by hirasel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang I 

The war'ly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, ® jundie,' stretch, an' strive,— 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive. 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

, Bum® owre their treasure. 

Farewell, **my rhyme-composing britherl'* 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither; 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal: 
May Envy wallop in a tether. 

Black fiend, infernal I 

While highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds^ like guid, fat braxies;** 
While terra firma, on her axis, 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In Robert Burns. 

'Valleys. 'Linnets. > Dodging. < Coos. » Found. «Pushwitl 
the shoulder. "^ Justle. • Hum. » Shepherds. »» Diseased sheep. 



130 BURNS. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen;* 

I had amaist forgotten clean, 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this New-Light, 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans* 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallani,* 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon,* 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,* 
Wad threap® auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins'-comin, to the leuk 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirmed ; 

The herds an' hirsels® were alarm'd; 

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies, 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours^ an' nicks; 

• |*in. • Boys. ' Lowland speech. * Shred. * Book. • Maintaia. 
• RetiMTiing. « Flocks. * Bumps. 



POSTSCRIPT. 131 

An^ monie a fallo^v gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt;' 

An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt, • 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' Auld-light caddies bure sic hands. 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds farbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But !N'ew-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruined stick-an-stowe,' 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe* 

Ye '11 find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their Xew-light fair avow. 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld-light flocks are bleatin; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin^ spite. 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns!" 
Some Auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things thev ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons, 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them : 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 

The hindmost shaird,' they'll fetch it wi' them-, 

Just i' their pouch. 
An' when the New-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch I 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a '^ moonshine matter; " 

But tho' dull-prose folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie,* 
I hope we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie.* 

5 Blow. « Burnt. s Totally. "* Hillock. ^ Grinning 
• Fellows. T Shred. « Quarrel » A broil 



m BURNS. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE,^ ENCLOSING SOME 

POEMS. 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Raukine, 
The wale^ o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams an' tricka 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou: 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, O dinna tear it! 

Spare' t for their sakes wha aft en wear it 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near ic, 

Rives't aff their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithin^,' 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frau ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhj^ming ware, 

A' that I bargained for an' mair ; 1 

Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect, 
Yon sang,* ye'll sen 't^ wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnle spring. 

An' danc'd my fill! 
I'd better gaen an' sair't^ the king 

At Bunker's Hill. 

> According to Allan Cunningham, *'an out-spoken, ready-witted 
ma^. Aiid a little of a scoffer." ^ choice. 3 Damaging. 

4 A song he had promised the author.— R. B. * Send it. « SerTed, 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE. 133 

'Twas ae night lately, iu my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun,* 

A bonnie hen ; 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nana wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straikit^ it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

But, Deil-ma-care I 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale' affair. 

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lee ; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat. 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail. 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time* is by, 
An' the wee pouts^ begun to cry, 
L — d, I'se hae sportin by an' by. 

For my gowd guinea; 
Tho' I should herd the Buckskin^ kye 

For't, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame I 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame,^ 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim. 

An' thole their blethers 1* 

It pits® me aye as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

Partridge to the ground. « stroked. 3 Whole. * Hatching tain«. 
* Chicks. ^ Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia. 
^ Belly. 8 And endure their foohsh talk. » Puts. 



134 BURA'S. 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time's expedient : 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



WRITTEN m FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON 
NITH-SIDE.^ 

Tiiou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in sillvcu stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry liour. 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly danc«, 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her syren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptiu-"d sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high. 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud sumn:iits wouldst thou scale\ 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait: 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold. 
Soar around each cliffy hold. 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought. 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought; 
And teach the sportive younkers round. 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fa^o, 

1 Bums has recorded his composition of these verses:— " One day, 
in a hermitage, on the Banks of the Nith, belonging to a gentlenaan 
in !ny neighbourhood, who is so good as to give me a key at pleasure, 
I wrote the above, supposing myself the sequestered venerable in- 
habitant of the lopeiy mansion."— The "gentleman" was Captaio 
Riddel. 



ODE. 135 



Is not — Art thou high, or low? 
Did thy fortune ebb, or flow? 
Did many talents gild thy sj)an? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself mu&t shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n 
To Virtue, or to Vice, is giv'n. 
Say, " To be just, and kind, and wise, 
Their solid self -enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways. 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base." 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break. 
Till future life, future no more. 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide 
Quoth the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



ODE, ^ SACKED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoured years, 

1 Ellisland, March 23, 1788. 
The enclosed Ode is a compliment to tlie memory of the late Mrs. 
Oswald of Auchencniive. Yoii probably knew her personally, r.n 
honour which 1 cannot boast; but I spent my early years in her 
neighbourhood, and .'^.rnong her servants and tenants. I know that 
she was detested with the most heartfelt cordiality. However, in 
the particular part of her conduct which roused my poetic wrath, 
she was much less blameable. In January last, on my road to 
Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie "Wigham's, in Sanquhar, the only 
tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim eveii- 
ing and howling wind were usherinar in a ni^ht of snow p.nd drift. 
My horse and 1 were both much fatigued with the labours of the 
day, and just as my friend the Bailie and I were bidding defiance to 
the storm, over a smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral ] afreartrj^of 
the late great Mrs — , and poor I am forced to brave all the horrors 
of the tempestuous night, and jade my liorpe. my young favourite 
horse, whom 1 had just christened Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, 
through the wildest muii*s and hills of Ayi-shire, to New Cumnock, 
the next inn. The powers of poesy and frose sink imder me, when 
I would describe what I felt. Suffice it to say. that when a good 
fire, at New Cumnock, had so far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat 
down and wrote the enclosed Ode,— Burns to Ih\ Moore, March ^^ 
1T89. 



136 . BURNS, 

Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse I 

STROPHE. 

View the withered beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 

Pity's flood there never rose. 

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took — but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest — 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 

(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 

Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends'^ 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 

Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a year? 

In other worlds can Mammon faH, 

Omnipotent as he is here? 
Oh, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier. 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



CAPTAIN MA TTHE I V HENDERSON, 137 



ELEGY OX CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON,^ 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR EIS HONOURS IMMEDLA.TELY 
FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthew's course was bright; 

His soul was Uke the glorious sun, 
A matchless, Heav'nly Light. 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie, ^ 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,^ 

O'er hurcheon* hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie* 

Wi' thy aula sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's seP shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns V 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,^ 

Where echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat^ kens I 

Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wimplin^'' down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens," 

Frae lin to lin." 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 

^ The Elegy on Captain Henderson is a tribute to the memory of 
#man I loved much. Poets hav*^ in this the same advantage as 
Roman CathoHcs ; they can be of service to their friends after they 
have parsed that bourne where all other kindness ceases to be of 
any avail.- To I>i\ Moore. (Feb. 28. 1791.) who remarked, in reply, 
that the chief merit of tlie Elegy Hes in its lively ]iictures of country 
scenes and things, wliich none but a Scottish poet, and a close ob- 
sei-ver of Nature, could have so described. 

2 Rope. 3 Smithy. * Hedgehog. ^ Anvil. 

« Self. 7 Heaps of Stones. ^ Eagles. 

^ Wood-pigeon, lo Meandering, ^i Plunges. ^^ pool to pool 



138 BUR. VS. 

Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs ; 

Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, 

I' th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins^ whiddin^ thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud f 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and specklea teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels, 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair* for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow Ting claver gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, * frae your ivy bow'r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch^ tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife^ morn I 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty® strains ; 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of w^oe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

^ Hares. 2 RunniDg. ^ Cloud. * Boom. » Owls 
« Dismal. ' Wakeful. « Meny, 



THE EPITAPH. 189 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost I 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light! 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

Henderson ; the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound! 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around. 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth! 
And weep the ae^ best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 



Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, — 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast. 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man; 

A look of pity hither cast, — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

» One. 



140 BURNS. 



If thou a noble sodger art, 
That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart, — 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,- 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', — 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain. 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, — 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin^ sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 

May dooP and sorrow be his lot, — 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON TEDS 
APPEOACH OF SPRING.' 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree. 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out owre the grassy lea : 
Now Phcebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

1 Complaining. 2 Mourning. 

3 VThether it is that the story of our Mary, Queen of Scota, has a 
peculiar effect on the f eeUngs of a poet, or whether I have, in the 
enclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know 
not; but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my muse for a good 
while past.— R. B. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 141 

Now lav'rocks^ wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in liis noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis' mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, i 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I w£is the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been, 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,- 

Remember him for me ! 



* Larks. ^ Thrush. 



142 BURNS. 

Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Kae mail* light up the morn! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellov^ corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.* 

"When Nature her great master-piece designed, 
And framed her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She forni'd of various parts the various man. 

Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain {)lodding industry, and sober worth: 
Thence peasiints, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth: 
Each [»rudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all m.eciianics' man^'-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net; 
The caijut mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires; 
The njartial [)hosp!ioru3 is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs, 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 
Last, she sublim.es th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

Tlie order 'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, weil-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good; 
But e'er she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half -jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter; ' 

Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it), 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet, 
Creatm-e, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 

1 Robert Graham, of Fictry, Esq., one of the Commissioners of 
Excise. 



EPISTLE TO A\ GRAHAM, ESQ. W^ 

A being form'd t' anuisc his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homaige ends; 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all tlie ills of life; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live; 
Longing to wdpe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his ow^n. 

But honest Xature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work, 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
Bhe cast about a standard tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
Attach'd him to the generous truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bount'ous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, 
"VYeak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stufit, 
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough ; 
The little fate allow^s, they share as soon. 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-w^rung boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend. 
Ah, that '^ the friendly e'er should want a friend!" 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy sou, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor " wdll do " wait upon " I should "-^ 
We own they're prudent, but vv^ho feels they're good! 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye, who the godlike pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race ; 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times, 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
Backw^ard, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? 
I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine — 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows. 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 



1^ BURN3, 

Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 

Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit ! 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 

Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 

So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascendf, 

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 

In all tlie clam'rous cry of starving want. 

They dun benevolence with shameless front; 

Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 

They persecute you all your future days ! 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 

My horny fist assume the plough again ; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more; 

On eighteen -pence a week I've liv'd before. 

Tho' thanks to Heaven, I dare e'en that last shift! 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 

That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 

My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRY, ESQ. 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg. 

About to beg a pass for leave to beg; 

Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 

(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest). 

Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail? 

(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to her tale), 

And hear liim curse the light he first surveyed, 

And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 

Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 

The lion and the bull thy care have found. 

One sliakes the forests, and one spurns the ground 

Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 

Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell.— 

Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 

Foxes and statesmen, subtle wiles ensure ; 

The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 

The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts. 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But oh! thou bitter step -mother and hard^ 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — ^the Bard ! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 14S 

A thing unteachable in world's skill, 
And half an idiot, too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the opening dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur ; 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side r 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics — appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; — 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear; 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspired. 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment for his injur'd page. 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rag«? 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they spit it up ; 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder '* some folks " do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear. 
And just conclude that *' fools are Fortune's care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 



146 BURNS, 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of then- moon-struck btaim; 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear 1 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! 
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown, 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



LAMENT FOR JA3IES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.' 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills. 

By tits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain. 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, ^ 

Whose tnmk was mould'ring down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 

^ *' Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my 
heart, the enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal: ai 
it is, I beg leave to lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world 
knows my obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to 
show as openly that my heart glows, and shall ever glow, with th« 
most grateful sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodnesa 
The sables I did myself the honour to wear to his lordship's 
memory were not the 'mockery of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude 
perish with me: -If, among my children, I shall have a son that has 
a heart, he shall hand it down to his child as a family honour and a 
family debt, that my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of 
Glencairn ! I v/as about to say, my lady, that if you think the poem 
may venture to see the light, I would, in some way or other ^ve it 
to the world."— Lord Glencairn died January 30. 1791, and Buma 
sent the "Lament" to the Earle's sister, Lady Elizabeth Cuimiiig- 
yiam, with a letter, of which the above passage is an extract. 

2 Oak. 



LAMENT, ETC, 1^^ 

And as he touclVd his trembling harp, 

xind as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

*' Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a^ the winds 

The honours of the aged year! 
A few^ short months, and glad and gay. 

Again ve'U charm the ear and e e; 
But^'noclit' in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

*a am a bending aged tree, . 

That long has stood tlie wind and rain; 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And mv last hold of earth is gane: 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers'^ plant them in my room. 

*< I've seen sae mony changefu' years. 

On earth I am a stranger grown; 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknow^ing and unknown; 
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

<' And last (the sum of a' my giiefsl) 

Mv noble master lies in clay; 
The flowT amani]: our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stay; 
In wearv being now^ I pme. 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever lied. 

** Awake thv last sad voice, my harp! 

The voice*^of woe and wild despair! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay,^ 

Then sleep in silence evermair! 

1 Nought. ^Others. 



18 BURNS. 

And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest^ gloom. 

** In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

No ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning sua 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard, and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

** Oh! why has worth so short a date? 

While villains ripen grey with time 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime? 
"Why did I live to see that day — 

A day to me so full of woe? 
O I had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

** The bridegroom may forget the bride, 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me l" 



LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOED, Of 
WHITEFORD, BART.,^ WITH THE FOREGOING 
POEM. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st. 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, 
To thee this votive off 'ring I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

1 Darkest. 
' An early friend of Burns', who gratefully acknowledged his in- 
terest in his fate as a man, and his fame as a poet. 



* TAMaSHANTER. 149 

The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron lov'd; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approved. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone. 
And tr«»ad the dreary path to that dark world unknown 



TAM 0' SHANTER.^ 

A TALE. 
Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.—G'atm'n Dou^jai^ 
When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy,* 
An' getting fou and unco happy. 
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm^ 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For honest men and bonny lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,' 
A blethering, blustering, dnmken blellum ;• 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; 
That ilka melder,^ wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Simday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton^ Jean till Monday. 

^ This ijoem was written to illustrate a drawing of Alloway Kirk, 
by Captain Grose, in whose "Antiquities of Scotland" it was pub- 
lished. The poet versified the chief circumstances of the historical 
story. Gilbert Burns specifies those of "a man riding: home very 
late from Ayr in a stormy night, his seeing a light in Alloway Kirk, 
his having the curiosity to look in, his seeing a dance of witches 
with the Devil playing on the bagpipe to them, the scanty covering 
of one of the witches, which made him so far forget himself as to 
cry—* Weel loupen, short sarkl' with the melancholy catastrophe 
of the piece." The poet has given a fuller and racier description 
of the original scene in a letter to Grose. 

• Ale. 3 Worthless fellow . * Idle talker. 

* Every time that corn was sent to be ground, 

« Kirkton is the distinctive name of a village in which the parish 
kirk stands. _ 



150 BU-RNS. 

She prOphesy'd that, late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Dooa; 

Or catch'd wi' warlocks^ i' the mirk,^ 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,* 
To think how many counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, 
The husband f rae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats,* that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious: 
The souter^ tould his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drowned liimself amang the nappy 1 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious I 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stan«| 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

> "Wizards. ^ Dark. * Makes me weeiK 

* Frothing ale. * Shoemaker. 



TAM O' SHANTER, . 151 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show^'rs rose on the blast ; 
The sj^eedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd ; 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tam skelpit^ on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising wind, and rain and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk Alio way vfas drav/ing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw^ the chapman smoor'd ;^ 
And past the birks" and rneikle^ stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the Y\^hins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; 
And near the thorn aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods\ 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees. 
Kirk Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore^ the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the Devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

Went at a smart pace. ^ Smothered. ^ Birches. < Big. 
5 Hole in the wall. 



152 BURNS, 

But hornpiDes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels^ 
Put liie and mettle in their heeis. 
At winnock-bunker'' in the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie^ tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screw'd the pipes and gart^ them skirl,* 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
*rhat shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrip^ slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims;® 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name v/ad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they crossed, they eleekit„ 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies' to the wark. 
And linket® at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie^ flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen !** 
Thir^^ breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,^^ 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies 1 

1 Window-seat. ^ shaggy. ^ Forced. ^ Scream. * Ma^c. 
• Irons. ' Clothes. ^ Tripped a,long. » Greasy. 

'® The manufacturing term for a fine linen, woven in a reed ol 
3700 divisions. — Cromek. 

*^ These. 12 Loins. 



TAM a SHANTER. I5d 

But wither' d beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags, \vad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,* 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what was what fu' brawlie, 
** There was ae v>'insome wench and walie," 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Cavrick shore; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perished mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,* 
And kept the country-side in fear) 
Her cutty ^ sark, o' Paisley harn,* 
That, while a lassie, she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft^ for her wee Xannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang), 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched, 
And thought his very e'en enrich'd; 
Even Satan gloT\T'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: 
Till fii-st ae caper, syne^ anither, 
Tam tint' his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, '^ Weel done, Cutty-sark ! '' 
And in an instant all was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,® 
When plundering herds assail their byke;* 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, ''Catch the thief I" resounds aloud; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tam I ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairinl 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 

1 Short staff. ^ Barley. ' Short. 

* Tery coarse linen. ^ Bought. * Then. ^ Loal, 

» Bustle. » Hive. 



154 BURNS. 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woef u' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane^ of the brig; 
There at tliem thou tliy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The iient a tail she had to shake 1 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle '^ 
But little wist slie Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claiight her by the rump. 
And left poor Ma<^gie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear. 
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINA- 
TIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING 
THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; — 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it ;^ 
A chield's amang you, taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel* wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright. 

That's he, mark weel— 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel.* 

1 It is a well-knov. n fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have nO 
power to foiiow a poor wight an}' farther than the middle of the 
next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the 
benighted traveller, that wht-n he falls in with bogles, whatever 
danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in 
turning back. — K. B. 

2 Effort. 

3 1 advise ycu to look to it. "* Plump. ^ Chalk and red clay. 



CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINA TIONS. 155 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* 

Or kirk deserted by its liggin, 

It's ten to ane yell find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, Lord safe's I colleagnin 
At some black art. — 

Hk ghaist that hamits auld ha' or chamer, 

Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 

And you deep read in hells black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches; 
Ye'U quake at his conjuring hammer. 

Ye midnight bitches. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quaf^ the spurtle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth^ o' auld nick-nackets; 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,* 
Wad hand the Lothians three in tackets,' 

A towmont^ gude, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut -backets, 

Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

0' Balaam's ass; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass, 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg,' 

Or lang-kail gullie.^ — 

» Building.— Vide his " Antiquities of Scotland."— R. B. 

2 Has quitted. ^ Plenty. 

* Tide bis ** Treatise on Ancient Armour and Weapons.'' — R. B. 

• Nails. • A twelvemonth, ' Clasp knife. «^ L^ix^Ki knif* 



156 BURNS. 

But y%'ad ye see him in his glee — 
For meikle glee and fun has he,— 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows -\\\' him; 
And |3ort, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'U see him' 

Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose I 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose. 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee I 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 
WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.^ 

April, irsft. 

Inhoian man ! curse on thy barbarous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! 

Go, live, poor w^anderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains; 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 

To tliee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wn-etch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
ni miss thee sporting o'er the dewy law^n. 

And curse the ruflian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate 

' 1 have Just put the last hand to a little poem, which I think will 
1 e something to your taste. One morning lately as I was out pretty 
early in the fields sowing some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a 
biiot from a neighbouring plantation, and presently a poor little 
wounded hare came crippling by me.—R. B. 



TO MISS CRUIKSIIAXK, i5t 

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON 
CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNA3I, ROXBURGH- 
SHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 

Or times -^olian strains between ; 

While Summer, with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head. 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The liills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows: — 

So long, sweet poet of the year. 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exxilting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, A VERY YOUNG LADY; 
WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK 
PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming in thy early May, ^ 
Never may'st thou, lovely Flow'r, 



Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath. 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 

1 The "dear little Jeanie " of one of his letters; her father was a 
Master in the High School at Edinburgh. 



£URNS. 

Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 
May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings^ 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings. 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH 
OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO A 
YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OP 
THE AUTHOR. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her lov6 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow ; 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords, 

That Nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd. 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 

Can heal the wound He gave ; 
Can point the brimful grief- worn eyea 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 

And fear no withering blast; 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



THE HUMBLE PETITION, 159 



THE HOIBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATERS TO 
THE XOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Emboldened thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride. 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat^ wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Bums came by, 
That to a Bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rliyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd^ me ; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roarin o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel. 

Worth gaun* a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 

1 Bniar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beauti- 
ful; but their eflfect Is much impaired by the want of treefi and 
thrubs.— R. B. 

* Wept. 5 Offered. * Going. 



IGO BURNS. 

Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 
You'll wander on my banks, 

And listen mony a grateful bird 
Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir: 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow; 

This, too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shild them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin* sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his sea<^ 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat. 

From prone-descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn. 

And misty mountain, grey; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees. 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 
My lowly banks o'erspread. 

And view, deep-bending in the pool. 
Their shadows' wat'ry bed I 

1 Hare. 



WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR PILOT STOOD. 161 

Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may Old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, ^ 

To social-flowing glasses. 
The grace be — ^'Athole's honest men, 

And Athole'e bonnie lasses !" 



WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR PHiOT STOOD. 

A FRAGMENT. 

TUNE—'* GILLICRANKIB." 

When Guilford good our Pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,* 

And in the sea did jaw,^ man; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takea^ 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's bum he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man ; 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a\ man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man : 

J Tea-pot. 

• Jerk. The English Parliament having imposed an excise duty 

upon tea imported into North America, the East India Company 

sent several ships laden with that article to Boston, and the natives 

went on board by force of arms, and emptied the cargo into the sea. 



162 BURNS. 

Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
Guid Christian bluid to draw, man; 

But at l^ew York, wi' knife and fork, 
Sir-loin he hack'd sma\ man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,' 

An' did the buckskins claw, man; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, an' Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler^ jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca', man : 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to Gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man ; 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

* ' Up, Willie, waur them a', man !" 

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be north the Roman wa', man : 

* He was able. * Tinl^er. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 163 

An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man), 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, ^' Willie, rise! 

Would I had fear'd them a', man?" 

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., 

Gowff'd' Willie like a ba', man. 
Till Suthrons raise, an' coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid, 

To make it guid in law, man ; 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MEiKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 

My Tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, 

My Tocher's the bargain you wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty, I'm cunnin', 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread. 

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE; WRITTEN 
WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TOR- 
MENTED BY THAT DISORDER. 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang. 
That shoots my feortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs^ gies monie a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines I 

1 Struck. a Ears. 



1(J4 BURNS. 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — ^thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Aye mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle I 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets^ keckle 

To see me loup ; 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the numerous human dools,^ 

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 

Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,' 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash^ o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree.* 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw,® 
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief -making chiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ache 1 



W^RITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIM, 
KEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INI4 
AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
' These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 

> Young girls. ^ Griefs. » Clods. * Car©, 

* The palm. « Row. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 16o 

My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens on my view. 
The meeting cliffs each dee.j-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild-scattered, clothe their ample sides ; 
Th' outstretching lake, imbosom'd 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride. 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste; 
The hillock's dropt in Nature's careless haste; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; 
The village glittering in the noontide beam. 

9{C 9|C 9|C ^ 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 
Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell ; 
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods— 
* * H« * 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught Ijrre, 
And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild; 
And disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch 

her scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN 
IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAmLY 
DISTRESS.^ 

Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 

* "As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far 
country." Fate has lon^ owed me a letter of good news from you, 
in return for the many tidings of sorroAv which I have received. In 
this instance I most cordially obey the Apostle— '• Rejoice with them 
that do reioice"— for me to sing for joy is no new thing; but to 

g reach for joy, as I have done in the commencement of this epistle, 
» a pitch of extravagant rapture to which I never rose before, t 
reaa your letter-I literally jumped for joy— how could such a mer- 
curial creature as a poet lunipishly keep his seal on the receipt of 
the beat news from his best friend ? I seized my gilt-headed v/ange© 
rod, an initrument indispensably necessary, in my left hand, in th© 



166 BURNS. 

November hirples^ o'er the lea, 
Chill on thy lovely form ; 

And gane, alas! the sheltering tree 
Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He, who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds,'* 

Protect and guard the mother plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourished, rooted fast, 
Fair on the summer morn : 

Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



WHITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE 
FALL OF FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring F^^ers pours his mossy floods, 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resoundsL 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep recoiling surges foam below. 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends. 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. 

Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'ri, 

The hoary, cavern, wide-surrounding low'rs. 

Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 

And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 
* * * * 

moment of inspiration and rapture; and stride, stride— quick and 
quicker— out skipped I among the broomy banks of Nith, to muse 
over my joy by retail. To keep within the bounds of prose was im- 
possible. Mrs. Little's is a more elegant, but not a more sincere 
compliment to the s'.veet little fellow than I, extempore almost, 
poured out to him, in the following verses."— BiriiNs/d Mrs. Dunlop, 
Kov, 1790. i Creeps. ^ Heart pangs. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DA VIE, 167 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 

AuLD Neebor, 

I'm three times, doubly, o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-f arrant, ^ friendly letter ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair, 
For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter 

Some less maun sair.' 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck^ jink and diddle, 
Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns^ bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit ;* 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be lickit 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,* 

Be hain't*' wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 

Rivin' the words tae gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think, 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban,^ 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we ga« scrievin'. 

An' fash nae mair. 

8Agacious. * Serve. • Elbow. * Inattentirc. 

» Unknown. * Spared. "^ Swear. 



168 BURNS. 

Leeze me on rhyme !^ it 's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizziel 
Tho' rough an' raploch^ be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warP may play you monie a shavie; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 

Frae door ta door. 



THE INVENTORY; IN ANSWER TO THE USUAL 
MANDATE SENT BY A SURVEYOR OF THE 
TAXES, REQUIRING A RETURN OF THE NUM- 
BER OF HORSES, SERVANTS, CARRIAGES, ETC., 
KEPT. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
My horses, servants, carts, and graith. 
To which I'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I ha'e four l3rutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle ;^ 
My hand-afore,^ a gude auld has-'been, 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been; 
My hand-ahin,* a weel gaun fillie. 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killic,* 
An' your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, an' that too I) 
I played my fillie sic a shavie. 
She 's a' bedevil'd wi' the spa^'ie. 
My fur-ahin"^ 's a gude, grey beast. 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd, — 

' A phrase of endearment. ^ Coarse. 

• Plough-staff. 4 The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough.— R. R 

^ The hindmost on the left hand in the plough.— R. B. 

• Kilmarnock. — R. B. 

"^ The hindmost horse on the right hand in the plough.— R. B. 



THE INVENTORY, 169 

The fourth, a Highland Donald hastie, 

A d — d red-wud, Kilburnie blastie ; 

Foreby a Cowte, o' Cowtes the wale, 

As ever ran afore a tail ; 

If he be spar'd to be a beast, 

He'll draw me fifteen pund at least. — 

Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spindle, 
An' my auld mither brunt the trindle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gaudsman^ ane, a thrasher t'other, 
Wee Davoc hands the nowte in f other.' 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An' ay on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the d walling. — 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord keep me aye f rae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife ; and that my bliss is. 
An' ye ha'e laid nae tax on misses ; 
An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face. 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 
But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already. 
An' gin ye tax her on her mither, 
B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 

» Plough-driver « Black cattle in fodd^. 



170 BURNS. 

My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 

IVe sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit!— 

The Kirk an' you may tak' you that. 

It puts but little in your pat;^ 

Sae dinna put me in your buke, 

Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain han' I wrote it, 
Day an' date as under notit : 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 

Subscripsi huic, Robert Burns. 

Jfoisgiel, Febrica/ry 22ndy 1786. 



THE WHISTLE.' 

A BALLAD. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 

1 Pot. 

' "The highest gentry of the county," writes Mr. J. G. Locklmrt, 
"whenever they had especial merriment in view, called in the wit 
and eloquence of Burns to enliven their carousals. The famous 
song of * The Whistle of Worth ' commemorates a scene of this kind, 
more picturesque in some of its circumstances than every day oc- 
currea, yet strictly in character with the usual tenor of hfe amonff 
this jovial squirearchy. These gentlemen, of ancient descent, had 
met to determine, by a solemn drinking match, who should possess 
the Whiatie, which a common ancestor of them all had earned ages 
before in a Bacchanalian contest of the same sort with a noble 
toper from Denmark; and the poet was summoned to watch over 
and celebrate the issue of the debate." The following is Burns' de- 
scription of the piize and the stn^ggle. He seems, however, to have 
fallen into some error as to the date: — '* As the autiienlic prose his- 
tory of the Whistle is curious, I shall here give it.- In the train of 
Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James the 
Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature 
and great prowess, and a matcliless champion of Biicchus. He had 
a little ebony Whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies he 
laid on the table, and whoever was last able to blow it, everybody 
else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to cany off the 
Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of 
his victories, witliout a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, 
Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in 
Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alterna- 
tive of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferior- 
ity. — ^After many overthows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was 
encoimtered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the 
present worthy Baronet of that name, who, after three days and 
three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 
' And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.' 

" Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert, before mentioned, afterwards lost 
the Whistle to Walter Riddle, of Gleuriddle, who lipd married a 
sister of Sir Walter. On Friday, the IGth October, 1790, at Friars- 
Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the 
ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lowrie, of Maxwelton^ Robert 
Riddle, Esq., of Glenriddle, lineal descendant and representative of 
Walter Riddle, who won the whistle, and in whose family it had 
continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, like- 
wise descended of the great Sir Robert, which last gentleman car- 
ried off the hard-won honours of the field,',' 



THE WHISTLE, 171 

Was bmught to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda,' still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
** This whistle's your challenge, in Scotland get o'er. 
And drink them to hell, Sir, or ne'er see me more 1" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, w^hat champions fell; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still. 
And blew^ on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war. 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again -have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw : 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

**By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel replies, 
** Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,^ 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er tum'd his back on his foe — or his friend. 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair. 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, 

Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sw^eet lovely dame. 

J See Ossian's *'Caric-thura."— R. B. 
^ See Johnson's '* Tour to the Hebrides. "~R. B. 



m BURN3. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vmeyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy, 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they wej|f 
wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoibus ne'er witnessed so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia liinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the v/av that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage; 
A high-ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But v7ho can with Fate and quaii; bumpers contend? 
Though Fate said, a hero should peiish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phcebas — and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
*^Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime I 

' '■ Thy line, that have struggled for Freedom with Bruce, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day l" 



SKETCH. 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX, 

How Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white; 
How Genius, th' illustrous father of fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, 



SKETCH. 173 

I sing,— If these mortals, the Critics, should bustle, 
1 care not, not I, let the Critics go whistle 1 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou, first of our orators, first of our wits, 

Yet whose parts and acquirements seem just lucky hits; 

With knowledge so vast and with judgment so strong, 

No man, with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong; 

With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right ; 

A sorry, poor, misbegot ?on of the Muses, 

For using thy name offei? fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man ; for as simple he looks, 

Do but try to develope hi 3 hooks and his crooks, 

With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 

All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the Devil. 

On his o!.€ ruling Passion Sir Pope hugely labours, 
That, lik • th' old Hebrew walking switch, eats up its 

neighbours : 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know 

him? 
Pull the string. Ruling Passion the picture will show 

him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system. 
One trifling particular, Truth, should have miss'd bi*n I 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 

And think Human-nature they truly describe; 

Have you found this, or t'other? there's more \^ the 

wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of the wonderful creature called Man, 
No two virtues, whatever rehition they claim. 
Nor even two different shades of the same. 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a muse 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps. Sir. ne'er deign to pt^ruse; 
Will you leave your justings, yoi r jars, and your quar- 
rels, 
Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels? 



174 BURNS. 

My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
Tour courage much more than vour prudence you sho^ 

In vain with Squire Billy for laure-s you struggle. 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle : 
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, 
He'd up the back-stairs, and, by G — , he would steal 'em; 
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 
It is not, outdo him • the task is, out-thieve him. 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

EUisland, 21st Oct., 1780. 

Wow,' but your letter made me vauntiel 
And are ye hale, and weel, and can tie? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'il do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron^ south 1 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth. 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on. 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear^ on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,* 
I'm turn'd a ganger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain mel 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty d amies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 

' An exclamation of pleasure. 

■ Robert Heron, who wrote a History of f^cotland, ai^d a Life of Bumik 

• Learning. * Brother. 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. l7i 

Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats^ o' duddies; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 

I need na vaunt 
But I'll sued* besoms — thraw saugh woodies,* 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air I 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van— 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp* — in man 1 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclu^de my silly rhyme, 

(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time), 

To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a daintie chuckle. 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay, 

Egbert Burnau 

lU^s of clothes. • Lop. * Twist willow ropei. 

^ The male, or stronger stalk of hemp. 



176 BURNS. 



PROLOGUE, SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, 
ELLISLAND.* 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 

That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity; 

Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will you roam? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new-year 1 

Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 

** You're one year older this important day." 

If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion, 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, 

He bade me on you press this one word — ''think I" 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope* and 
spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit. 
To you the dotard has a deal to say 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ; 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch hioi* 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him, 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow. 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important n(y\Jo t 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak, endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours; 
; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 

* We have gotten a set of very decent players here just now. %\ 
kave seen them an evening: or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrot© 
to me by the manager of the company, a Mr. Southerland. who is a 
man of apparent worth. On New-year day evening J gave hiui tii«j 
following Prologue, which he spouted to his audiewce with ap* 
plause.~R. B, 



WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN. 177 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OP 
MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 

As Burnet, lovely from her native skies; 

Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow, 

As that which laid th' accomplished Bui-net low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 

In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 

In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 

As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known* 

In vain, ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
Ye woodland choir that cliant yom- idle love3, 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens: 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd; 

Ye rugged cliffs o'erhanging dreary glens, 
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres, 

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care; 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; 
So, from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT 
HBI A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO CON- 
TI^TUE IT, FREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through. 
And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted? 
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted 

B* 



J78 BCTKNS. 

To ken what French mischief was brewin^ ; 

Or what the drumlie^ Dutch were doiu' ; 

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off ; 

Or how the collieshangie^ works 

Atween tlie Russians and the Turks; 

Or if the Swede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt; 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tak^ o't; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin*; 

How libbet* Italy was singin' ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court, kept up the game: 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him I 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; 

If sleekit^ Chatham Will was livin', 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin ; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls; 

If that daft buckie, Geordie W s, 

Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, • 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. — • 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So, gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray a' guid things may attend you I 
EUidandy Monday Morning^ 1790. 



IJNES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAEK/ 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Bums, 

October twenty-third^ 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprackled® up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

»Mtlddy. « Quarrel. ^ Taking. '•Gelded. • Sly. •Wiser. 
' Son of the Earl of Selkirk, Burns was introduced to him b/ 
Dugald Stewart. « CJambered. 



INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 179 

Fve been at drucken writers' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

(Wi' reverence be it spoken;) 
I've even join'd the honoured jorum, 
When mighty Squireships of the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 

A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son, \ 

Up higher yet, my bonnet! , 

And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh I for Hogarth's magic pow'r I 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r,* 

And how he star'd and stammered, 
When goavan,^ as if led wi' branks,^ 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon, 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Kor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Th«n from his lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another; 
Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 

^ Trightened stare. ^ Walking with stupid wondM*. 

• A curb bridle. 



UO BURNS. 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLB ON HE* 
BENEFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, 
The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings ; 
While quacks of State must each produce his plan, j 
And even children lisp The Rights of Man ; 
Amid the mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Riglits of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the Sexes' intermixed connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is. Protection. 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 

Our second Right — but needless here is caution. 
To keep that Right inviolate's the fashion, 
Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
He'd die before he'd wTong it — 'tis Decorum. 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a Lady's quiet I — 
Now, thank our stars! those Gothic times are fled; 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred ! 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct, neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the tliird, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That Right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration 
Mo-t humbly own — 'tis dear, dear Admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move; 
There taste that life of life — immortal Love. — 
Sighs, tears, smiles, glances, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? 

Then truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ! 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah! ga ira! The Majesty of Woman I 



ADDRESS, 181 



ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, ON 
HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT 
THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES. 

Still anxious to secure your partial favoiL, 

And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 

A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 

^would vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better ; 

So sought a poet, roosted near the skies. 

Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 

Said, nothing like his works was ever printed : 

And last, my Prologue -business slily hinted. 

** Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes^ 

**I know your bent — these are no laughing times; 

Can you — but. Miss, I own I have my fears, — 

Dissolve in pause, — and sentimental tears, 

"With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 

Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentancet^ 

Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid stand, 

Waving on high the desolating brand, 

Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?" 

I could no more — askance the creature eyeing. 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying? 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the world shall know it; 
And so, your servant I gloomy Master Poet I 

Firm as my creed. Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief, 
That Misery's another word for grief; 
I also think — so may I be a bride ! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do tlie work of five : 
Laugh in misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish hearts and airs hast strove ; 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thy neck — 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself : 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 



183 BURNS. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 

And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY, ^ WITH A PRESENT 

OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scotish Muse immortal lives. 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble lie who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast 
Discordant jar thy boso'n-chords among I 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song ; 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 

As modest Want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious Virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals ! 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY.' 

Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserved I^ 

In chase o' tliee, what crowds hae swerv'd 

Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o' clavers; 
And och ! owtc aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

'Mid a' thy favours.^ 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
while loud, the trumj)'s heroic clang. 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage*, 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, ^ 'till him rives 

Horatian fame; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

> Daughter of Mr. Graham, of Fintrv. 
• Gilbert Burns doubted the authenticity of these verses, but 
surelj without reason. 

3 Collins. « Dwarf. 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 183 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches; 
Squire Pope but busks ^ his skinklin^ patches 

O' heathen tatters . 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear, 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And \s'i the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place? 

Yes ! there is ane, a Scottish callan — 
There's ane ; come f orrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk^ beliint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tantallan,* 

But thou's for ever: 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens^ thy bumie strays. 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes ; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns grey 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 

Nae bombast spates® o' nonsense swell; 

Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

0' wit chin' love, 
That charm that can the strongest quell — 

The sternest move. 

'DrMMs. 3 Small. > Stoop. « The name of a OMtiA 

» Daisied dales. * Torrents. 



184 BURNS. 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE LAST 
EDITION OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO TRE 
LADY WHOM HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED 
UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS.^ 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower, 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer Hower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store— 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 



The joys refin'd of sense and taste. 
With ev'ry muse to rove : 

And doubly were the poet blest, 
These joys could he improve. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER. 
WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE. 

Revered cl ef ender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, w^hich to love, was the mark of a true heart, 

But now 'tis despis'd and neglected 1 

^ Jean Lorimer* 



NE IV- YEAR DA Y. 185 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wanderer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scofiingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry ; 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 

That gave us the Hanover stem? 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter? 

The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a tiifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard. 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 
But you like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



SKETCH.— NEW- YEAR DAY. 

TO MRS. DUKLOP. 

This day Time winds th' exhausted chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again, 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer. 



186 ^URNS. 

Deaf, as my friend, he sees them presd, 

Nor makes the hour one moment less. 

Will you (the Major's' with the hounds; 

The happy tenants share his rounds ; 

Coila's fair Rachel's^ care to-day, 

And blooming Keith's^ engaged with Gray) 

From housewife cares a minute borrow — 

— That grandchild's cap will make to-morrow-» » 

And join with me a-moralizing; * 

This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 
** Another year is gone for ever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion? 
** The passing moment's all we rest on." 
Rest on — for what? what do we here? 
Or why regard the passing year? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more? 
A few days may, a few years must, 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries. 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone; 
Whether as Heavenly glory bright, 
Or dark as Misery's woful night. — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends^ 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now^ employ. 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd, 
Witness tluit filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse; 
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others now claim your chief regard; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 

* Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, second sou oC Mift 
Duulop. ^ Miss Rachel Dunlop. 

» Miss Keith Dun\op, the youngest daughter. 



MONODY ON A LADY. 187 



EXTEMPORE, ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, AU- 
THOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HIS- 
TORY, AND I^IEMBER OF THE ANTIQUARUN 
AND ROYAL SOdETEES OF EDINBURGH. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan^ came, 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same ; 
E^s bristling beard just rising in its might ; 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night ; 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd 
A head, for thought profound and clear, unmatched; 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPEND- 
ENCE, AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT OF MR. 
HERON; WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul resigned; 

Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave, 

Who wilt not be nor have a slave ; 

Virtue alone who dost revere. 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 

Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. • 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd ; 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd! 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd ; 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened I 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd ; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate ! 

Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. 

> There was a club in Edinburgh— the CrochaUan Fenclble»— of 
which Bums and Smellie were members. 

> The lady was the Mrs. Riddel, whos« name so often occurs In th# 
Poet's history. 



188 BURNS. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

We^U search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 
' We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed ; 
'^But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 
I For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey. 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Heke lies, now a prey to insulting neglect. 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam: 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect ; 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



BONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEi; 
ESQ., OF GLENRIDDEL; APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no more ! 

Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul ; 

Thoii young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, 
More welcome were to me gnm Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : . . . . 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 
The strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Ridde? 
lies. 

Tes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe I 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier: 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 

Is in his *' narrow house " for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



;-^?x^^ 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME. 189 

IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTH-DAY, 
NO^^]^IBER 4, 1793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred, — 
^hat have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me. 
'Tis done I says Jove ; so ends my story, 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glor}'. 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, DUMFRIES, WITH 
BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER. 

Thine be the volumes. Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer — 
That Fate may in her fairest page. 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard, 



;exte:mpore to mr. syme, on refusing TO 

DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEN PRO- 
MISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY ANT) THE 
FIRST OF COOKERY, DECEMBER 17th, 1795. ? 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



190 BURN'S. 



TO MR. SYME, WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF 

PORTER. 

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 

JeruBalem Tavern^ Dumfries, 



SONNET, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A 
MORNING WALK; WRITTEN JANUARY 25th, 
1793, THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR, R. B., 
AGED 34. 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leafless bough; 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain: 
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 

At thy blithe carol clears his furrowed brow. 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear 

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part^ 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear, 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skiesl 
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 

What wealth could never give, nor take away! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 
The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thet 
I'll share. 



POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLEC- 
TOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796. 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal; 
Alake, alake, the meikle Deil 

Wi' a' his witchei 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouchef. 



APOLOGY TO AN' OFFENDED FRIEND. 191 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,* 

I'd bear 't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

P08TSCKIPT. 

YeVe heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell Death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun I he gat me by the fecket,' 

And sair me sheuk; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

Ajid turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My heal and weal I'll take a care o't 

A tcntier^ way : 
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't. 

For ance and aye. 



SENT TO A GENTLE]yiAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part. 
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive? 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 

» Waistcoat. » Wis«r. 



192 BURN'S. 



POEM ON LIFE, ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DK 
PEYSTER;^ DUIVIFRIES, 1796. 

My honoured Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! how sma' heart hae I to speeP 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill. 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

"Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(And aye a rowth,® roast beef and claret; 

Syne, wha wad starve?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker* 

I've found her still, 
Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that crust carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons^ by a rattan,* 
Our sinful' saul to get a claut' on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on,— 

He's aff like fire. 

Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair. 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne® weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's d— d waft.* 

Pool man, the flie, aft bizzes by. 
And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh. 
Thy auld d — d elbow yeuks with joy. 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already, in thy fancy's eye. 

Thy sicker^^ treasure. 

* Colonel of the Dumfries volunteers. * Climb. • Plenty. 

* Unsteady. ^ Cat. 

•Bat. "^ A scrape. •Then. « Woof . ^^Sur*. 



EPITAPH, ETC. 193 

Soou, heels-o'er-gowdy!' in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tnngs, 
Tiiy girning^ laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us f rae the Devil ! 

Amen! amen! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, ON RE- 
CEIVING A FAVOUR. 

I CALL no Goddess to inspire ray strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons recorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me, along your wand'ring spherci. 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth: 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd: 

If there 's another world, he lives in bliss; 

If there is none, he made the best of this. 

' Topsy turvy. « Gxinnlng. 



194 BURXS. 



EPISTLE TO WILLLOI CREECH.' 

AxjLD chuckle Reekie's^ sair distrest; 
Down drops her ance weel burnisht cre(it| 
Nae joy her bonnie buskit^ oest 

Can yield ava. 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa 1 

Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o* things an unco slight; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

An' trig* an' braw. 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 
Willie's awa ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie^ weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa! 

Now gawkies, tawpies, • gowks, and fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ; ' 
He wha could brush them down to moola, 

Willie's awal 

The brethren o' the Commerce- Chaumer* 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 
Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they'll now mak mony a stammer, 

Willie's awa ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score, 

In bloody raw 1 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa! 

* The Inclosed I have Just wrote, nearly exteraporejln a 8olltar| 
Inn at Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding.— R. B. 

* Edinburgh. ^ Ornamented. ■• Neat. » Clever feUow. 

• Silly girls. " Wood in a hollow. 
• The Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh. 



VERSES WRITTEN A T SELKIRK, ifll 

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace; 
M^Kenzie, Stewart — such a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa ! 

Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
He cheeps^ like some bewildered chicken 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ;- 
Griefs gien his heart an unco kickin', 

Willie's aw a I 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blelliun,* 
A.nd Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum* 

His quill may draw, 
He wha could brawlie ward their bellunij 

Willie's awa ! 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Et trick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw* 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastlv, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech,* 

Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked fortune touzle him ! 
May never wicked men bamboozle him I 
Until a pow® as auld's Methusalem 

He canty claw !^ 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa ! 

<^hirps. * Blooi-crow. ^ Talking-fellow. « ScazD|; 

* Creech was the chief publisher in Edinburgh. 

• H^ad. ^ Cheerful scratch. 



196 BURNS. 



INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMBSTONE ERECTED Bt 
BURNS TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSON.* 

'* Here lies Robert Fergusson, Poet, born September 5th, 1751— 
Died, 16th October, 1774.'^ 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
*'No storied urn, nor animated bust;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or denied, 

Lord, bless us with content ! 
Amen! 



A VERSE COIMPOSED AND REPEATED BY BURNS, 
TO THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON TAKING 
LEA^rE AT A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, 
WHERE HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY ENTER- 
TAINED. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come ; 
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more, 

Than just a Highland welcome. 



LIBERTY— A FRAGMENT.^ 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among. 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes; 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies ! 

1 Bums had asked permission of the Bailies of Canongate, to **l»y 
a simple stone over the revered ashes" of Fergusson. 

*■* The Fragment was the amusement of a lonely hour at a Tillage 
inn. in the summer of 17d4. 



AMSWER To VERSUS. IJ. 

Hear it not, Wallace, iu thy bed of death 1 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in Freedom's war, 

That wont to bid the battle rage? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring 1 
One quench'd in darkness, like the sinking star. 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age^ 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUIS- 

SEAUX/ 

Now Robin lies in his last lair. 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him : 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fasht him, 
Except the moment that they crusht him : 
For sune as chance, or fate, had husht 'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short. 
Then wi' a rhyme, or sang, he lasht 'em. 

And thought it sport. 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark," 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd and dark, 

Ye roos'd him than. 



ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET 
BY THE GUroWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE." 

GUTDWIFE, 

I MIND it weel, in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

• In Huisieaux^ Burns plays on his own name . ^ Stout and enduring 
* Mrs. Scott, who had some skill in rhyming and painting. 



An' first could thrash the barn, 
Or hand a yokin at the pleugh. 
An' tho' forfoiighten* sair eneugh 

Yet unco' proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow com 

A man I reckon 'd was, 
And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stooked raw,* 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,' 
Wearing the day awa; 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power), 
A wish that^ to my latest hour, 

Shall strongly heave my breast; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make. 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading widd 

Amang the bearded bear,* 
I turn'd the weeding-hook aside, 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 
No nation, no station. 

My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang. 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core. 

She rous'd the forming strain: 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up my jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een, 
That gart my heart-strings tingle: 
I fired, inspired. 

At ev'ry kindling keek,* 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

* Tired. * The other row of shocks. ^ Nonsense. ♦ Barl«T. 

» Look. 



Mardk, 1787. 



TO % LAPRAIK. 199 

An' we to share in common: 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heaven below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindf u' o' your mither ; 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her, 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre*, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare. 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,^ 

Douce hingin' owre my curple, 
Than ony ermine ever lap. 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Farewell then, lank heal then, 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 

Sept. 13th. 1796^ 

GuiD speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale bans, and weather bonny; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny 

The staff, o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like diivin' wrack; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

* Stable, or sheep-pen. ' Mantlet 



200 BURNS. 

Tm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, 

But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
An' took my jocteleg^ an' what it, 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill-nature 

On holy men. 
While Deil a hair yoursel ye're better. 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us, 
But browster wives^ an' whiskie stills, 

They are the Muses. 

Your friendship. Sir, I winna quat it. 

An' if ye mak objections at it. 

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take, 
An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 

Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty. 

Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty. 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than thretty. 

Sweet ane an' twenty. 

But stooks are cowpet^ wi' the blast. 
An' now the sinn keeks* in the west, 

* dasp-knife. « Alehouse wives. • Tuoibled OT«r> 

* Sun peeps. 



TO THE REV. JOHN iVTMATR. 201 

Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An^ quit my chanter ; 

Sae I subscribe mysel in haste 

Your's, Rab the Ranter.' 



TO THE REV. JOHN M^MATH. 

ENCLOSINa A COPY OF HOLY WILUE'S PRAYER, WHICH HE HAD 
REQUESTED. 

Sept. 17, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin'^ show'r, 
Or in gulravage rinnin scour, ^ 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My music, tir'd wi^ monie a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie* now she's done it. 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
That I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack so sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie. 

Loose hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 

Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces. 

Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces. 

Their raxin'^ conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gawn, " mi ska' t waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 

> It is very probable that the Poet thus named himself after the 
Border Piper, so spiritedly introduced in the popular song of '* Mag- 
gfie Lauder."— Oowi^fc. 

' Driving. ' Running in confusion, like boys leaving school. 
* Frighted. * Stretching. « Gavin Kainilton. 



202 BURNS. 

Than monie scores as guid ^s the priest 

Wha sae abused hun; 

An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way theyVe us'd him? 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless sktillums. 
An' no a muse erect her head 

To CO we thtj blellums? 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts. 

An' tell aloud 
Their jagglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be. 
But, twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under Gospel colours hid be, 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass. 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause. 

He'll still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for Gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They tak religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth. 
For what? to gie their malice skouth^ 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth. 

To ruin straight. 

All hail, Religion! maid divine! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee, 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee, 

> Vent. 



TO THE REV, JOHN M'MATH. 203 

Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' monie a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain, 

To join wi' those, 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes ; 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite o' undermining jobs, 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit* 

O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground ! 
Within thy presbytereal bound, 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 

An' manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 

Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 

An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd, 

(Which gies you honour,) 
Even, Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd. 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
An' if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'r wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd t' ye. 



204 BURISrx 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., MAUCHLINE. 

RECOMMENDING A BOY. 

MosgaviUe, May 3, 1786. 

I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty, 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M^Gaun,^ 
Was here to lure the lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day. 

An' wad hae don 't aff han' ;■ 
But lest he learn the callan tricks. 

As faith, I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin' lies about them; 
As lieve then, I'd have then. 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' I say't, he's gleg^ enough. 

An' 'bout a house that's rude an' rough, 

The boy might learn to swear; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught, 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ye'll catechise him every quirk. 

An' shore^ him weel wi' hell ; 

An' gar* him follow to the kirk 

— Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday, 
Then please, Sir, to lea'e. Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gi'en. 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en. 

To meet the warld's worm: 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
An' name the airles^ an' the fee. 

In legal mode an' form : 

^ Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer in cows. It ^as 
his common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the hort«6 of 
cattle, to disguise their age. He was an artful trick-contriving 
character; hence he is called a snick-drawer. Bunis styles the 
Devil, in his address to that personage, " an auld, snich'dr awing 
dog."— Cro7?iefc. 

••' Off hand. ^ sharp. < Threaten. • Make. 

• Earnest money. 



EPISTLE TO MR, M'ADAM. 205 

I ken he weel a snick can draw, * 

When simple bodies let him; 
An' if a Devil be at a\ 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you, an' praise you. 
Ye ken your Laureat scorns ; 
The pray'r still, you share still, 
Of grateful Minstrel — Burns. 



i 

EPISTLE TO MR. M^ADAM OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN, 
IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE SENT 
IN THE COIVEVIENCEMENT OF MY P0ET5C CA- 
HEER. 

Sm, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
**See wha taks notice o' the Bard!" 

I lap and cry fu' loud. 

**Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan !" 

Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel, 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' weel, 

Is aye a blest infection. 

Tfiio', by his' banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. — 

And when those legs to gude, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow tail. 

And barley scone shall «heer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonny lasses baith, 

I'm told they're loosome kimmers I' 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 

* Oontrive a trick, a Diogenes . • Girls. 



206 BURNS. 

TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE LILIES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER. 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 
Your News and Review, Sir, I've read through and through, 

Witli little admiring or blaming: 
The pa pi IS are barren of home-news or foreign, 
No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends the Reviewers, those chippers and hewers, 

Arc judges of mortar and stone, Sir; 
But of m^^et, or unmeet, in a fabrick complete, 

I'll boldly pronovnce they are none, Sir. 

My goose-quill too inide is, to tell all your goodness 

Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet; 
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it! 



TO TERRAUGHTY,* ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I lurn'd Fate's sibyl leaf 

This natal morn, 
I see thy life is stufl* o' prief , ^ 

Scarce quite half worn. 

Phis day thou metes threescore eleven. 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure* — 

^ Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. • Proot 

3 Dust. 



THE VOWELS, ETC. ^07 

Bat for thy frtends, and they are monie, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
May couthie' fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkic !' Lord be near ye, 
And then tlie Deil he daur na steer^ ye : 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye ; 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca me. 



rO A LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OP 
DRINKING GLASSES. 

Edinburgh, Marcb 17th, 1788. 

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high Avith generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

*'The whole of human kind I" 

**To those who love us!" — second fill; 

But not to those w^hom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A third — *'To thee and me, lovel"* 



THE VOWELS. 

A TALE. 



'TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, 

The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 

Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws^ 

And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 

Upon a time. Sir Abece the great, , 

In all his pedagogic povvcrs elate, 

* Loving, 2 A clever fellow. ^ Molest. 

*The lady was the Clarinda of the Poet's letters: some account 
of her will be found in the prefatory Memoir. 



20? BURNS, 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 
A.nd call the treinbllDg Vowels to account. 

First entered A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted ai ! 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 
The jostling tears ran down his honest face! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own, 
Pale he surrenders at the tyi'ant's throne ! 
The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 
And, next, the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assigned. 

The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I disdained reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round. 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground ! 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th' Inquisitor of Spain, the most expert, 
Might there liave learnt new mysteries oi his art: 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering, U 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knewl 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast. 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipped his right, 
Baptis'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 



SKETCH.^ 
A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight. 
And still his precious self his dear delight; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streeti 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets ; 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive I'amour ; 

' The piece inscribed " R. G., Esq.," is a copy of verses I sent Mr. 
Graham, of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assistance in a 
matter to me of very great moment. This poem is a species of com- 
position new to me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of 
the kind, as you will see by the "Poet's Progress." These frag- 
ments, if my design succeed, are but a small part of the intended 
whole. I propose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions, ri- 
pened by years. The fragment beginning, ''A little, upright, pert, 
tart," Ac, forms the postulate, the axioms, the definition of a char- 
acter, which, if it appear at all. shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at 
portrait-stwtching.— To Professor D. Stewart, Jan. 30, 1789. 



PROLOGUE FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT. »09 

So travelled monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — ^by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



PROLOGUE FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEPIIV 
NIGHT, DUMFRIES. 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play, an' that new sang, is comin'? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? 
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil : 
Nor need he himt as far as Rome and Greece ; 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory. 

Is there no daring Bard will rise and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? 
Where are the Muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after monie a bloody, deathless doin', 
Wrench'd his dear cotmtry from the jaws of ruin? 
for a Shakespeare, or an Otway scene. 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 
Vain all the omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms, 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : ,^ 

A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas f ollow'd to the martial strife, 
Perhaps, if bowls row right, and right succeeds, 
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads 1 



210 BURNS. 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
Would tak the Muses' servants by the hand ; 
Not Only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend them; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the test. 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best I 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'll soon hae Poets o' the Scottish nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle^ time an' lay him on his back I 

For us and for our stage should onie spier, 
" Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here!* 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We hae the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But, like good mithers, shore before ye strike— 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find U3, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks: 
God help us 1 we're but poor — ye'se get but thanks. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

SKETCH. 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're bom : 
But oh I prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont,^ Su*s, is gane to wreck! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint^ a head. 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ! 
The tulzie's* sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks; 
rhe tane is game, a bludie devil. 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin'. 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden.* 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,* 
An' cry till ye be haerse^ an' roupet, 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
And gied you a' baith gear and meal; 

3 Wrestle. ^ Twelvemonth. 5 Lost. ♦ Quarrel. 

* Dunghill. • Pulpit. ^ Hoarse. 



LAMENT ON LEA VING SCOTLAND. 211 

E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een/ 
For some o' you hae tint a f rien ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 
Observe the vera nowte^' an' sheep, 
How dowf ^ and daviely they creep I 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
For E'mbrugh wells are grutten dry. 
O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
N'ae hand-cuff'd, mizzl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man : 
As muckle better as you can. 
January 1, 1789. 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF 
FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT 
AUTHOR'S WORKS, PRESENTED TO A YOUNG 
LADY IN EDINBURGH, MARCH 19th, 1787. 

Curse oq ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure I 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the Bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? 



LAMENT, WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET 
WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND.* 

O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain 
straying. 

Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, 
What woes wring my heart while intently surveying 

The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave. 

* Wipe your eyes. ^ Cattle. ^ Languid. 

♦ Originally published in the Dumfries Journal, July 5th, 1815, but 
doubtmlly ascribed to Burns. 



212 BURNS, 

Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, 
Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore ; 

Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green 
vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more. 

No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander, 
\ And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; 
No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, 
For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave. 

No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 
I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 

Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 



DELIA.' 

AN ODE. 



Fair the face of orient day, 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay. 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 



The flower-en amour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! 
O let me steal one liquid kiss I 
For, oh ! my soul is parch'd with love I 

> Said to have been written at the inn of BrownhiU, in the parish o< 
Diosebiim, " a favourite resting-place of Bums.'* 



ON THE DEATH OF J. HUNTER BLAIR. 213 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howPd thro' the darkening air, 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell. 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;• 

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallo w'd, well,' 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane/ 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east, 
And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving stonn. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unf url'd. 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.— 

'*My patriot son fills an untimely gravel" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; 

**Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride ; 

"A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

The drooping Arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh.— 

> Sir James Blair died July 1, 1787: he was a partner in Forbes' 
Bank, at Edinburgh. 

' The King's Park, at Holyrood House.— R. B. 
» St. Anthony's Well.— R. B. * St. Anthony's Chapel.-R. B. 



214 BURNS. 

**I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; 
But, ah! how hope is born but to expire! 

Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. — 

**My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung. 
While empty greatness saves a worthless nam«? 

No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

"And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs," — 
She said, and vanished with the sweeping blast 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF 
THE FIRST EDITION, WHICH I PRESENTED TO 
AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED. 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows. 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere; 
Friendship I 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him, — he asks no more, 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE 

CHILD. ^ 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter' fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta, or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss and daut^ thee, 

1 The mother was Elizabeth Paton, of Largieside, and her daughter 
died in 1817, the wiffe of th© overseer at Polkemmet. 

2 Accident. s Fondle. 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE. 215 

As dear an' near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will, 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h— II. 

What tho' they ea' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintra clatter : 
The mair they talk I'm kent the better. 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet finiit o' monie a meiTy dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,* 

Which fools may scoff at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee. 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee. 

An' think't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit. 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins, 
'Twill please me mair to hear and see't. 

Than stockit mailins.' 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, ON 
THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

GouDiE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin^ looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me! she's in a sad condition; 

> Asquint. * Farms. • Grinning. 



216 BURNS, 

Py^ bring Black-Jock, her state physician, 
To see her water ; 

Alas I there's ground o' great suspicion ', 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, * 

But now she's got an unco ripple ;* ) 

Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, i 

Nigh unto death; 

See how she fetches at the thrapple,^ \ 

An' gasps for breath, ' 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

6aen in a galloping consumption, 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend h3r; 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylor^ are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom^ tar-barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 



LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, GLENCONNER.* 

Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner; 
How do you this blae eastlin win'. 
That's like to blaw a body blin'? 
For me, my faculties are frozen. 
My dearest member nearly dozen'. 
I've sent you here by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Reid, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled. 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of Science mir'd, 

- Death-pain. * Throat. * Dr. Taylor, of Norwich. 

* Empty. 

• According to Burns, * the most intelligent farmer in the country.' 



Letter to yAMES tait. s» 

To common sense they now appeal, 

What wives an' wabsters' see an' feel. 

But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly, 

Peruse them, an' return them quickly, 

For now I'm grown sue cursed douse, 

I pray an' ponder but the house. 

My shins, my lane,^ I there sit roastin', 

Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston ; 

Till by an' by, if I hand on, 

I'll grunt a real gospel-groan : 

Already I begin to try it, 

To cast my een up like a pyet,' 

When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 

Flutt'ring an' gaspin' in her gore : 

Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 

A burning an- a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale* of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May he who made him still support him, - 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 

My auld school-fellow, Preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, ^ my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
Just five-and-f orty years thegither 1 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' Lord remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle** siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, 
For, Faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashiouit 
To grant a heart is fairly civil. — 

* Weavers. ^ Myself alone. * Magpie. * Choice. 
The *• manly tar ' was probably Richard Brown.— CuNNlNOHiiM, 
• Small quantity. 



218 BURNS. 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 
May guardian angels tak a spell, 
An' steer you seven miles south o' hell: 
But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink. 
An' aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
Your's, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranteb. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS' TO MARIA. 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, 
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin. 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, 

Resolve to drink, nay half to w e, no more ; 

Where tiny thieves, not destin'd yet to swing, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string: 
From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date. 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

*' Alas! I feel I am no actor here!" 
'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, 
By barber woven, and by barber sold. 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care. 
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 
In Highland bonnet w^oo Malvina's charms ; 
While sans culottes stoop up the mountain high, 
And steal from me Maria's pr3dng eye. 

1 The Esopus of this strange epistle was Williamson the actor, and 
the Maria to whom it is addressed was Mrs. Riddel.— Allan Cun- 

NIMGHAM. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 219 

Bless'd Hiffhland bonnet ! Once my proudest dress, 

Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 

I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 

And call each coxcomb to the wordy war. 

I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 

And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 

The crafty colonel leaves the tartan'd lines. 

For other wars, where he a hero shines : 

The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred. 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head, 

Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to display 

That ven% vidi, viciy is his way ; 

The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 

And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks ; 

Though there his heresies in church and state 

Mjght well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 

Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 

And dares the public like a noontide sun. 

(What scandal called Maria's janty stagger 

The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger? 

Whose spleen, e'en worse than Burns's venom — when 

He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, 

And pours his vengeance in the burning line, — 

Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine ; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 

And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 

Who call'd her verse, a parish workhouse made 

For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray 'd?) 

A workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes my woes. 

And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 

In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 

And all my frowzy couch in sorrow steep; 

That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore. 

And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour? 

Must earth no rascal, save thyself, endure? 

Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 

And make a vast monopoly of hell? 

Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee ^orse. 

The vices also, must they club their curse? 

Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for alii 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 



^20 BURNS, 

As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 

Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance hurls^ 

Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette, 

A wit in folly, and a fool in wit? 

Who says that fool alone is not thy due, 

And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true? 

Our force united on thy foes we'll turn. 

And dare the war with all of woman born : 

For who can write and speak as thou and I? 

My periods that decyphering defy, 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply 



ON A SUICIDE. 



Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor silly wretch he's d — d himseZ' 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



A FAREWELL.'* 



Farewell, dear Friend! may guid luck hit you, 
And, 'mang her favorites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, 

May nane believe him 1 
And ony Deil that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him. 



THE FAREWELL. 

Farewell old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 

* A melancholy person of the name of Glendinning, having taken 
away his own life, was interred at a place called "The Old Chapel," 
close beside Dumfries. My friend Dr. Copland Hutchinson nap)- 
pened to be walking out that way ; he saw Burns with his foot on 
the grave, his hat on his knee, and paper laid on his hat, on which 
he was writing. He then took the paper, thrust it with his finger 
into the red mould of the grave, and went away. This was the 
above epigram, and such was the Poet's mode of publishing it.— A. 

CUJiNINGHAM. 

' The friend was Mr. John Kennedy. 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAJffAM, ESQ, 'i2l 

Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou'rt bereft, 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thoult share I 
Adieu too, to you too. 

My Smith, my bosom frien'; 
When kindly you mind me, 
O then befriend my Jean 1 

When bursting anguish tears my heart I 
From thee, my Jeannie, must I part 1 

Thou weeping answ'rest '*No!" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake, must go ! 
Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu I 
I, with a much-indebted tear, 
Shall still remember you I 

All-hail then, the gale then. 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore I 
It rustles, and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY; 
ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION 
BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAP. 
TAIN MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT 
OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTKY, my stay in worldly strife. 
Friend o* my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,* 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
Who left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlings. 
And, bent on winning borough towns. 
Came shaking hands wd' wabster lowns, 

And kissing barefit carlins.* 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions; 
^ Kick. a Old women. 



822 BUJ^A'S. 

As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, 
And Westerha^ and Hopeton hurVd 

To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding; 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Csesarean fight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner; 
Heroes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics, 

To win immortal honour, 

M^Murdo and his lovely spouse, 

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!) 

Led on the loves and graces; 
She won each gaping burgess' heart. 
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Among their wives and lassea. 

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps. 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 

Like Hccla streaming thunder; 
Glenriddle, skill'd in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory: 
And Welsh, who ne'er yet fiinched his ground 
High-waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopeian fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, 
The many-poundei-s of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation 1 
While Maxweltou, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, 

And threaten'd worse damnatioi.. 



EPISTLE TO ROBER T GRAHAM, ESQ. 223 

To these what Tory hosts opposed, 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd, 

Surpasses m}* descriving : 
Squadrons, extended long and large, 
With furious speed rush to the charge, 

Like raging devils driving. 

What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tuhie I 
Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple^ shor'd, 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.' 

As highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift, 

Hurl down with crashing rattle: 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks w^ould fly 

Before th' approaching fellei*j: 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers.* 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 

And think on former daring : 
The muflled murtherer of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame. 
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham, 
Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose! 
Now death and hell engulf thy foes. 

Thou liv'st on high for ever!) 

Still o'er the field the combat bm-ns. 
The Tories, Wliigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken: 
For woman's wqt and strength o' man, 
Alas! can do but what they can! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 

Throat. 2 The broiU 

• A rocky opening on the coast of Aberdeenshire. 



d24 . BURNS. 



O that my een were flowing bums! 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing! 
That I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 

And furious Whigs pursuing! 

What Whig but melts for good Sir James? 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor I 
Not Pulceney's wealth can Pulteney save 1 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart, bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing! 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, O Prince, arise, 

Thy power is all- prevailing/ 

For yom* poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely 1 
So, when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirps securely. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN.* 

Hail, thairm'-inspirin' rattlin' Willie ! 
Though Fortune's road be rough an' hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

YYg never heed 
But tak it lik the unback'd filly. 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly ffoavan' whyles we saunter, 
Yirr* fancy parks, awa' we canter 
IFphill, down brae, till some mischanter,* 

Some black bog-hole, 
Arrests us, then the scathe® an' banter 

We're forced to thole.' 

> Major Logan was a skilful player on the violin. ' Fiddle-string. 

* Walking without an object. 
• Lively. • Accident. • Injury. '' To bear. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. S98 

HiJe be your heart ! Hale be your fiddle! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

O' this wild warP, 
Until you on a crummock driddle* 

A grey-hair'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tun«^ 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazie croon 

O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 

Nae ** lente largo" in the play, 

But ** allegretto forte" gay 

Harmonious flow : 

A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey- 
Encore I Bravo 1 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang. 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule, 
But as the clegs' o' feeling stang' 

Are wise or fool. 

My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase 
The harpy, hoodock,* purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base 

To a' their parts I 

But come, your hand, my careless brithcr, 
r th' ither warl' — if there's anither. 
An' that there is I've little swither* 

About the matter, — 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted clearly, 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 

* Hobble on a stick. 
* Gadflies. « Sting. < Miserly. • Doubt 

J* 



820 BURNS. 

Eve's bonny squad priests wyte' them sheeiff 
For our grand fa' ; 

But still, but still, I like them dearly — 
God bless them a' I 

Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers, 
The witching curs'd delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte,' 
And gart me weet my waukrife winkers,* 

Wi' girnin spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high swearin?-* 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
And by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gie the jads* a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint* it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 

Some cantraip* hour, 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 

Then, vive V amour I 

Faites mes haissemalns respectnemes, 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye. 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nae mair at present can I measure, 

An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure; 

But when in Ayr, some half -hour's leisure, 

Be't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

Robert BuBirit 
0:oi$giel, SOth October, 1786. 

* Blaroe. « Frantic. • Wet my sleepless ejM. 

* Jades. * Lost. * Charmod. 



EPITAPHS, ETC. ^2? 

EPITAPH ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER.* 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 

Blasted before its bloom ; 
Whose Innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that flower's perfume. 
To those who for her loss are grieved, 

This consolation's given — 
She's from a world of woe relieved, 

And blooms a rose in Heaven, 



EPITAPH ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON.* 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

And empty all his barrels : 
He's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink 

In upright honest morals. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER.' 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 

A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles,* 

Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 

A land that prose did never view it. 

Except when drunk he stachert through it ; 

> These lines are said to have been written by Burns on the loss of 
his daughter, who died in the autumn of 1795, and of whom he thus 
■peaks in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, from Dumfries, January 31, 1796: 
*' These many months you have been two packets in my debt — what 
sin of ignorance I have committed against so highly valued a friend 
I am utterly at a loss to guess. Alas I madam, ill can I afford, at 
this time, to be depi-ived of any of the small remnan t of my pleasures. 
I have lately drunk deep of the cup of affliction. The autumn robbed 
me of my only daughter and darling child, and that at a distance 
too, and so rapidly, as to put it out of my power to pay the last du- 
ties to her. I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock when 
I became myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and 
long the die spun doubtful: until, after many weeks of sick bed, it 
■eems to have turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl across 
my room, and once indeed have been before my own door in th« 
Street. 

*' When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, 

Affliction purifies the visual ray^ 
Religion hails the drear, the untried night, 
That shuts, for ever shuts, life's doubtful day." 
2 A brewer in Dumfries. 
• A merchant of Kilmai-nock. and a generous patron of Burns at 
file beginning of his poetical career. 

* Instrument for dr^ssinj flax. 



BVRMS. 

Here, ambush'd by the chimla^ cho«k, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 

I hear it — ^for in vain I leuk. — 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Enhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming rapture*, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk, like ither Christians, 

I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wr nae kend face but Jenny Geddes. 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Dowie^ she saunters down Nithside, 

And aye a westlin leuk she throws. 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose I 

Was it for this, wi' canny care. 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire! 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 

And late or early never grumbled? 

Oh, had I power like inclination, 

I'd heeze' thee up a constellation. 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar, 

Or turn the pole like any arrow : 

Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, 

Down the zodiac urge the race, 

And cast dirt on his godship's face : 

For I could lay my bread and kail, 

He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 

Wi' a' this care and a' this grief. 

And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 

And nought but peat reek i' my head. 

How can I write what ye can read? — 

Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 

Ye'll find me in a better tune ; 

But till we meet and weet our whistle, 

Tak this exoug'**. for ^ae epistle. 

HoBSBT BxmHib 



ADDRESS OF JJEEL/EBVB. 229 

ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB TO THE PRESIDENT^ 
OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskuith'd by hunger'd Highland boors; 
Lord i^rant nae duddie"- desperate beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin' auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith you and A s ^^ere right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight; 
I daubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
Than let them ance out owre the water; 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules and laws they please^ 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a rankliu'; 
Some Washington again may head them, 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 
Till God knows what may be effected, 
When by such heads and hearts directed^ 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 
To watch and premier o'er the pack vile ; 
An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance. 
To cowe the rebel generation. 
An' save the honour o' the nation? 

They an' be ! what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day? 
Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom. 
But what your Lordship likes to gie them. 

But hear, my Lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies^ 
I canna' say but they do gaylies ;* 
They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses; 
Yet while they're only poind't and herriet,* 
They'll keep their stubborn Highland spiril-A 
But smash them! crash them a' to spailsl^ 
An' rot the dyvors"^ i' the jails ! 

» The Earl of Breadalbane. 2 Ragged. > > ^»riTft 

* Pretty well. 
* Seized aad plundered. '^ Chips. * Bankrupts 



'430 BURNS, 

The young dogs, swinge^ tliem to the labour; 
Let wark and hunger mak them sober ! 
The hizzies, if they're auglitlins fawsont,'' 
Let them in Drury-Iane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thigger" at your doors an' yetts* 
Flafifan wi' duds^ an' grey \vi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese, 
Get out a horsewhip, or a jowler, 
The iangest thong, the fiercest growler. 
An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 
Go on, my Lord ! I lang to meet you, 
An' in my house at hame to greet you; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
. The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my right han' assign'd your seat 
'Tvreen Herod's hip and Poly crate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow,® 
Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat, I'm sure ye're weel deservin 't; 
An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzkbub» 
June 1, Anno Mundi^ 5790. 



TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 

E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, 

Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force 

A hermit's fancy, 
And down the gate, in faith, they're worse, 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as Pm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews. 
Till some bit callan bring me news 

That you are there, 
And if we dinna hand a bouze, 

Pse ne'er drink mair. 

It's no I like to sit an' swallow. 
Then like a swine to puke an' wallow ; 

Whip. 2 Decent. ^ Crowd. * Farm-yard gate^ 

* Fluttering with rags. 'Murmur, 



GN THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUN DAS, ESQ, 231 

But gie me just a true good fallow 

Y/i' right ingine, * 

And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 

Now, if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
An 'sklent on poverty their joke, 

Wr bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship mil I troke, 

Nor cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate, as ill's the vera Deil, 
The flinty heart that canna feel — 

Come, Sir, here's tae you; 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss- you weel, 

And guid be wi' you. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ,, O^ 
ARNISTON, LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THR 
COURT OF SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks: 
Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains. 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains ; 
Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves retiu'n a sullen moan. • 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves I 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar, 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 

A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd her rod; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 

She sunk, abandoned to the wildest woe. 

Wrongs, injuries from many a darksome den, 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 

1 Genius, or disposition. * Wish, 



232 RURNS, 

See from his cavern grim Oppression rise, 
And tiirow on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly, 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 

Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes, 

Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 

View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring vf ay : 

"While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong. 

Hark, injured Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale, 

And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpitied wail ! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief -inspired strains : 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign. 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure, 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



TO JOHN M^MURDO, ESQ.* 

O, COULD I give thee India's wealth, 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never buy- 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



ON fHE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHO 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your hea\7- loss deplore ; 
Now half -extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

* Steward to the Diilce of Queensberry. 



THE KIRICS ALARM. ^33 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 

Scream your discordant joys ; 
Now half your din of tuneless sound 

With Echo silent lies. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM.* 

A SATIRE. 

Orthodox, orthodox, 

Wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience^ 

There's a heretic blast, 

Has been blawn i- the wast, 
That what is not sense must be nonsense. 

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac; 

Ye should stretch on a rack, 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon any pretence, 
Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the Church's relief. 
And Orator Bob'* is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart's like a child, 

1 It is impossible to look back now to the civil war which then 
raged among the churchmen of the west of Scotland, without con. 
fessing that on either side there was much to regret, and not a little 
♦o blame; and no one can doubt that, in the, at best, unsettled state 
of Robert Bums' principles, the unhappy effect must have been 
powerful indeed, as to him. M'Gill and Dalrymple, the two minis- 
ters of the town of Ayr, had long been suspected of entertainiisg 
heterodox opinions. The gf»ntry of the country took, for the 
most part, the side of M'Gill: the bulk of the lower orders espoused 
the cause of those who conducted the prosecution against this err 
ing Doctor. Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of his stamp, were, of 
course, on the side of M'Gill; Auld. and the Mauchline Elders, with 
his enemies. Mr. Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, had the principal 
management of MGiil's cause. He was an intimate friend of Ham 
llton, and through him had formed an acquaintance which now 
ripened into a warm friendship with Bums. M'Gill, DalrjrmpJe, and 
their brethren were the New-hght Pastors of his earliest " Satires.'' 
^LockharVs Life of Burns, p. 60. 

* Robert Aiken, agent, or, as we should say, attorney for Dr. M'GUL 



834 BURNS. 

And your life like the new-driven snaw, 

Yet that winna save ye, 

Old Satan must have ye, 
For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 

Seize your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition ye never can need; 

Your hearts are the stuff, 

Will be powder enough, 
And your skulls are storehouses of lead. 

Rumble John, Rumble John,^ 

Mount the steps wi' a groan, 
Cry, the book is with heresy cramm'd; 

Then lug out your ladle. 

Deal brimstone like adle,^ 
And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James,' 

Leave the fair Killie dames, 
There's a holier chase in your view; 

I'll lay on your head, 

That the pack ye'll soon lead. 
For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,* 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what danger awaits? 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul. 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,* 

Ye may slander the book. 
And the book nought the waur — let me tell you; 

Tho' ye're rich and look big, 

Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,® 
What mean ye? what mean ye? 

' John Russell, with the loud voice. * Stagnant water. 

« James M'Kinla. ** Alexander Moodie. ^ Dr. MitcheQ 

* Stephen Young, Barr. 



THE KIRICS ALARM. 235 

If ye'll meddle uae mair wi' llie matter 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To havins and sense 
Wr people wha ken ye nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,* 

Ye hae made but toom roose, 
In hunting the wicked Lieutenant; 

But the Doctor's your mark, — 

For the Lord's haly ark, 
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in't, 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,' 

For a saunt if ye muster. 
It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, 

Yet to worth let's be just, 

Royal blood ye might boast, 
If the ass was the king o' the brutes. 

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock,^ 

When the L makes a rock, 

To crush Common Sense for her sins ; 

If ill manners were wit. 

There's no mortal so fit. 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside,* 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
O' manhood but sma' is your share ; 

Ye've the figure, it's true. 

Even our faes maun allow, 
And your friends daui-na say ye hae mair. 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,* 

There's a tod* i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the-clerk;' 

Tho' ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'll be in at the death, 
iind if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

* Mr. Young. « -^y^ Grant. ' Mr. John Sheppard. 
Mr. G. Smith. ^ Of Mauchiine. • Fox. ^ Gavin Hamiltoik 



1^ BU^NS. 

Why desert ye your auld native shiret 
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy, 
Yet were she even tipsy, 

Shfi could ca' us nae waur than we art,* 



DAIKTIE DAVIE. 



Kow rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowew; 
And now come in my happy hours. 
To wander wi' my Davie. 



CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock-knowe,' 
Daintie Davie, daintie Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear daintie Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa\ 
The merry birds arc lovers a'. 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi- my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When purple morning starts the har% 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then through the dews I will repaii. 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

> fhe chosen champioDS of the Auld Light, in Ayrshire, presented. 
iTi many particulars of personal conduct and demeanour, as broad 
a mark as ever tempted the shafts of a satirist. That Burns has 
grossly overcharged the portraits of them, deepening the shadowi 
that were sufficiently dark, and excluding altogether those brighter, 
and perhaps softer, traits of character which redeemed the o/'igin* 
als within the sympathies of many of the worthiest and beat of men 
seems equally clear.— LocfcTmr^, p. 62. 

* A knoll where wizards have held tryste. 



ELEGY, ETC. 237 



THE SELKIRK GRACE. 



BoME hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
And sae the Lord be thankit. 



BLE^IT ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON 

PEe Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

As ever trode on aim ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

An' past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

An' rode thro' thick an' thin ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

An' wanting ev'n the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 

An' ance she bare a priest ; 
But now she 's floating down the Nith, 

For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
An' the priest he rode her sair ; 

An' meikle oppress'd an' bruised she was, 
As^ priest-rid cattle are. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVOURITE 
CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature, 

Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 

Thou art acting but thyself, 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 
Spuming nature, torturing art ; 

Loves and graces all rejected. 
Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 

> 8akl by Bums, at the request of the Earl of 8elkirlL 



238 BURNS, 



THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT.* 

The solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears; 

But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

Talk not to me of savages 
From Afric's burning sun, 

No savage e'er could rend my heart, 
As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not ev'n to view the Heavenly choir, 

Would be so blest a sight. 



EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth 

Can turn Death's dart aside? 
It is not purity and worth, 

Else Jessy had not died. 



THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky, 
Yet still one Seraph's left on earth. 

For Jessy did not die. 



THE TOAST. 

Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast, 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 

' In reply to a gentleman who undei'valued the sufiPerings of 
Scotland '*for conscience sake." 

2 Playfully written, when she was indisposed. 



THE BOOK-WORMS. 239 



THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 



As cauld a wiud as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het^ ere I come back. 



TO MISS C— WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF uF ONE 
OF MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS. 

Thou flattering mark of friendship kind, 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor : 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She showed her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee, 
Yet deviating, own I must. 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, Til mind still 

The giver in the gift ; 
I'll bless her and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift.'* 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

Theke's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more— there is danger in touching; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare? 

The man and his wine sae bewitching I 



THE BOOK-WORMS.^ 

Thkough and through the inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windings ; 

But, oh ! respect his Lordship's taste, 
And spare his golden bindings. 

* Hot. « Sky. 

» Suggested by a splendidly bound, but worm-eaten copy of Shakar* 
peare. 



240 BURIES, 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 



To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth? 

The ivied cot revere. 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 



Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride^ 

And eke a braw new brechan,* 
My Pegasus I'm got astride, 

And up Parnassus pechin ;' 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward cnub 

The doited beastie stammers; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets, 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd nami 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame, 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet, 

His honest heart enamours, 
And, faith, ye'll no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Truth herseP might swear ye're faixy 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

M'ght fire even holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt nae fortune may you shore 
Some mim-mou'd* pouthered priestie; 

Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, 
And band upon his breastie : 

* Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of 
mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, kli 
Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquaintea with her, 
and wrote as follows.— R. B. 

' With new bridle and collar. ' Panting. * Gtentle-mouthed, 



TO JOHN TA YLOR. 241 

But oh 1 what signifies to you, 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal bl lo, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin* glowrin' countra laird 

May warsle for your favour ; 
JVIay claw his lug, and straik his beard, 

And hoast up some palaver; 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers, 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Eard ! my fond regard, 

For ane that shares my bosom. 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For deil a hair I roose^ him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon, 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To ^ou and Willie Chalmers. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR.' 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo, weary flying, — 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 
Threw by his coat and bonnet. 

And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod^ 

I'll pay you like my master. 

* Praise. 
• Bums, during one of his excise journeys, on a winter day, found 
it necessary to get his horse's shoes "roughed." The blacksmith 
was very busy; and the Poet sought Mr. Taylor's influence in ob* 
taming bis aid.— B. 



242 BURNS. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE. 

The following verses, in the handwriting of Bums, were copied 
from a bank-note, in the possession of Mr. James F. Gracie, of 
Dumfries. The note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated on the 
1st of March, 1780. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf I 

Fail source o' a' my woe and grief I 

For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 

For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 

I see the children of affliction 

Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 

I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile, 

Amid his hapless victim's spoil. 

And for thy potence vainly wish'd, 

To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore, 
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. 



BURNS— EXTEIVIPORE. 

Ye true * Loyal Natives,'^ attend to my song, 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; 

From envy and hatred your corps is exempt : 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt! 



REMORSE. 



Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish. 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
That to our folly, or our guilt, we owe. 

^ The political fever ran high in 1794, and a member of a club at 
Dumfries, called the Loyal Natives, in a violent paroxvsm, produced 
pome verses, to which Burns gave the extempore repiy. 

2 I entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, Mr. Smith, in 
his excellent "Theory of Moral Sentiments," that remorse is the 
most painful sentiment that can embitter the human bosom. Any 
ordinary pitch of fortitude may bear up tolerably well under those 
calamities in the procurement of which we oursc?lves have had no 
hand; but when our own follies or crimes have made us miserable 
and wretched, to bea.r up witli manly firmness, and at the same 
time have aproper peniteatial sense of our misconduct, is aglorioiw 
effort of self-command. —K D. 



IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. 243 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — ^' It was no deed of mine;*' 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — *' Blame thy foolish self I" 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen Kemorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt— 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us; 

Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin! 

O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, X 

There's not a keener lash I 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amendment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 

O, happy ! happy ! enviable man 1 

O glorious magnanimity of soul 1 



TO . 

Mossgiel. ^ 178^ 

Sib, 

Yours this moment I unseal, * 

And faith I'm gay and hearty! 
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil, 

I am as fu' as Bartie :^ 
But foorsday. Sir, my promise leal 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel,'* 

Or hurl in a cartie. 

B. B. 



"EST VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE.'* 

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer. 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear; 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst — and do that worst despise. 
**Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd, unpitied, unredwst,- 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest, " 
Let Prudence' dii-est bodements on me fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all 1 

* A proverb for a drinker, ^ Climb. 



2^4 BURNS. 



*^ THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE.'" 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill ; 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. — 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 
But if success I must never find. 

Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
ril meet thee with an undaunted mind. 



I BURN, I BURN."^ 



** I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd com, 
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne," 
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night; 
Now bless the hour which chami'd my guilty sight 
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose : 
Chained at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foea; 
In vam Religion meets my sinking eye ; 
I dare not combat — but I turn and fly ; 
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallowed fire; 
Love grasps his scorpions — stifled they expire ! 
Reason droj)s headlong from his sacred throne, 
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage yields, 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
By 3^our dear self I — the last great oath I swear; 
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear I 

« The above was an extempore, under the pressure of a heavy 
train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me alto- 
gether. It was just at the close of that dreadful period before men- 
tioned (March. 1784); and though thn weather has brightened up a 
little with me since, yet there has always been a tempest brewing 
round me in the grim sky of futurity, 'which I pretty plainly see 
will some time or other, perhaps ere lon^r, overwhelm me. and drive 
me into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness. 
However, as I hope my poor coimtry Muse, who. all rustic, awkward, 
find unpolished as she is, has more* charms for me than any other 
of the pleasures of life beside— as I hope she will not then desert 
me, I may end, then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, and 
towth a sang to soothe my misery.— R. B. 

3 To dlarinda. 



TO THE OWL. 



TAM, THE CHAPMAN.' 

As Tarn, the Chapman, on a day 

Wi» Death forgather'd by the way, 

Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous, 

And Death was nae less pleased wi* Thomas, 

Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 

And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 

His social, friendly, honest heart, 

Sae tickled Death they could na part: 

Sae after viewing knives and garters. 

Death takes him hame to gie him quarters. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S 
RECOVERY. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny : 
Ton save fair Jessy from the grave i 

An Angel could not die. 



ON A SICK CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face, 
Nae mair my Dearie smiles ; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace. 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee ; 
Ye Heavens, how great is my despair, 

How can I see him die ! 



TO THE OWL. 

BY JOHN M'CREDDIE.2 

8a^ Bird of Night, what sorrow calls thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour? 

Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 
Threatening to nip the verdure of thy bow'r? 

^l^L Svk''^^^' who is styled ''Chapman," in allusion to hia con. 

?S^ S^ a mercantile house, as agent. 
-^eirJ' • Y^^^die is supposed to be a mythical personage, the rer* 
ses having been found m the hand writing of Burns. 



246 BURNS, 

Is it, sad Owl, that Autumn strips the shade, 
And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn? 

Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade? 
Or friendly Melancholy bids thee mourn ? 

Shut out, lone Bird, from all the feather'd train, 
To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding gloom ; 

No friend to pity when thou dost complain. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 

Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain. 
And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song : 

Sing on, sad mourner ! to the night complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
Sad piteous tears in native sorrows fall? 

Less kind the heart, when Sorrow bids it break? 
Less happy he who lists to pity's call? 

Ah no, sad Owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, 
That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief is there ; 

That Spring's gay notes, unskilled, thou canst repeat ; 
And Sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day, 

Are quite estranged, sad Bird of night! from thee; 

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray. 
When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy dome, 
While the grey walls and desert solitudes 

Return each note, responsive, to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods; 

There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee, 

Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery. 

Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 



^^WAS E'ER PUIR POET."^ 

**Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted, 

The maister drunk — the horse committed : 

Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 

Thou'lt be a horse, v^^hen he's nae inair (mayor)." 

* Burns once visited Carlisle; and while he vras in the condition 
which his verses describe, the Mayor put his horse, which had tres- 
passed on a corpoitttion meadow,' iu to the " i^ound/' 



TO THE RUINS OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY, 217 
THERE^S KAETHING LIKE THE HONEST NA^PY, 

There's iiaetliiDg like the honest nappy I 
Whaur '11 ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy, 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn. 

IVe seen me daez't upon a time; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ;* 
Just ae hauf muchkin"^ does me prime, 

Ought less is little ; 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg 's a whittle I 



TO THE RUINS OF LESTCLUDEN ABBEY.* 

Ye holy walls, that still sublime 
Resist the crumbling touch of Time, 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days. 
As through your ruins, hoar and grey — 
Ruins, yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly, 
The forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's w^ond'ring eye. 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Ev'n now, as lost in thought profoimd, 
I view the solemn scene around, 
And pensive gaze with wistful eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies ; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride, 
Lifts high its roof, and arches wide, 
That, knit with curious tracery 
Each Gothic ornament display ; 
The high-arched windows, painted fair, 
Show many a saint and martyr there ; 
As on their slender forms I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ; 
With noiseless step and taper bright. 
What are yon forms that meet my sight? 
Slowly they move, while every eye 
Is heavenward raised in ecstasy : — 

1 Glimmer. 2 Half-a-pini. 

» On the banks of the river Cluden, near Dumfries. The verses 
were ascribed to Burns by an anonymous writer, and are included 
in later editions of his works. 



248 BURNS. 

'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train, 

That seeks in prayer the midnight fane. 

And hark ! what more than mortal sound 

Of music breathes tlie pile around? 

'Tis the soft-chaunted choral song, 

Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong: 

Till thence return'd they softly stray 

O'er Cluden's wave with fond delay ; 

Now an the rising gale swell high. 

And now in fainting murmurs die : 

The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 

That glistens in the pale moon's beam, 

Suspend their dashing oars to hear 

The holy anthem, loud and clear; 

Each worldly tliought a while forbear, 

And mutter forth a half-formed prayer. 

But as I gaze, the vision fails. 

Like frost-work touch'd by southern gales; 

The altar sinks,' the tapers fade, 

And all the splendid scene's decay'd. 

In window fair the painted pane 

No longer glows with holy stain. 

But, through the broken glass, the gale 

Blows chilly from the misty vale. 

The bird of eve flits sullen by. 

Her home, these aisles and arches high: 

The choral hymn, that erst so clear 

Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear, 

Is drown'd amid the mournful scream, 

That breaks the magic of my dream : 

Roused by the sound, I start and see 

The ruin'd, sad reality. 



PROLOGUE,^ SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, ON HI3 
BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787, 

When by a generous Public's kind acclaim. 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the man in private life forgot; 
What breast, so dead to heavenly virtue's glow, 
But heaves impassion 'd with the grateful throe? 
Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song: 
1 Ascribed to Bunis on very slight evidence. 



y RA GIC FRA GMBNT, 249 

But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 

For genius, learning high, as great in war — 

Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 

Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear ! 

Where every science, every nobler art — 

That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 

Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream. 

Here holds her search, by heaven-taught Reason's beam •, 

Here History paints, with elegance and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, 

And Harley rouses all the God in man. 

When well-forni'd taste, and sparkling wit unite. 

With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 

Can only charm us in the second place), 

Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 

As on this night, I've met these judges here ! 

But still the hope Experience taught to live, 

jEqual to judge — you're candid to forgive. 

2^0 hundred -headed Riot here we meet, 

With decency and law beneath his feet, 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 

Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame, 

O Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land I 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; 
May every son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore. 
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar 
Till Fate the cui-tain drop on worlds to be no more. 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 



"All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
And with sincere, tho' unavailing, sighs 
I view the helpless children of distress. 
With tears indignant I behold the oppressor 

* In my early years nothing less would serve me than courting the 
Tragic Muse. I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen when I 



250 BURNS. 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destructioii, 
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you; 
Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; 
Ye poor, despis'd, abandoned vagabonds, 
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin. 

but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 

1 had been driven forth like you, forlorn, 

The most detested, worthless wretch among you! 

O injui*'d God! thy goodness has endow'd me 

With talents passing most of my compeers, 

Which I in just proportion have abus'd 

As far surpassing other common villains, 

As Thou in natural parts had given me more.*' 



O CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

CAN ye labour lea, young man, 
An' can ye labour lea ; 

Gae back the gate ye cam' again, 
Ye'se never scorn me. 

1 feed a man at Martinmas, 
Wi' airr-pennies three ; 

An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him, 
He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble rig is easy plough'd, 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof, 

That couldna labour lea? 



O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
Who mad'st the sea and shore; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
And grateful would adore. 

And if it please thee, Pow'r above! 

Still grant us with such store, 
The friend we trust, the fair we love, 

And we desire no more. 

sketched the outhnes of a trag^clv, forsooth: but the bursting of a 
cioud of family mL-^fortuiies, vvhi jh had for some time threatened 
us, prevented my fi: ether progress. In tboso days I never wrote 
down anything; so. except a speech or two, the whole has escaped 
my memory. The loilo wing, •which I mo^3t disrinctly remember, was 
an exclamation from a great character — great in occasional in- 
stances of generosity, and daring at times in villanies.— R. B. 
1 bilvcr penny given as hiring money. 



Sntigs* 



THE LASS 0» BALLOCHMYLE.* 

TUNE—' MISS FORBKS'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.' 

'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The Zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the Mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while, 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
"When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 

' ' Behold the Lass o' Ballochmyle I" 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
When roving through the garden gay, 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

* '* The Lass of Ballochmyle'* was Miss Alexander, whose brother 
had recently come to reside in Ballochmyle House, of which the 
pleasure grounds extend along the north bank of the Ayr. The farm 
of Burns, Mossgiel, was in the immediate neighbourhood. He inclosed 
a copy of the song to Miss Alexander, and was extremely indignant 
at the lady's silence respecting his letter. Of the verses his own 
opinion. was justly high:— "I think myself," he told Mrs. Stewart of 
Stair, '^it has some merit, both as a tolerable description of one of 
Natui*e's scenes — a July evening, and one of the finest pieces of 
Nature's workmanship,— the finest indeed we know anything of —an 
H-raiable, beautiful young woman." 



253 BURNS. 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain : 
Thro' weary Winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine : 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And C'/ery day have joys divine, 

With the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle.* 



SONG OF DEATH.' 

A GAELIC AIR. 



Scene— A field of battle. Time of the day— Evening. The ii^<i»i\5Ml 
and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in tibw >osJi<. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 

Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties. 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe 1 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou for the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant — ^he sinks in the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious markl 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands, 

Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

O ! who would not die with the brave 1 

1 Under the above song is written *' Miss Wilhe Alexander." 
* When the pressing nature of pubhc affairs called, in 1795, for a 
general arming of the people, Burns appeared in the ranks of the 
•'Dumfries Volunteers," employed his poetical talents in stimulating 
their patriotism ; and at this season of alarm he brought forward the 
following hymn.— (CuRaiE.) The song was written in 1791. 



-^ 



AULD ROB MORRIS. ^53 

MY AIjST kind DEARIE! O. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time^ is near, my jo- 
And owsen* frae the furrow'd field ' 

Return sae dowf and wearie, O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented'birki 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, ' 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie ! O. *^' 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo* 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, ' 

Along the burn to steer, my jo'; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, ' 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 
Theke's auld Rob Morris that wons^ in yon fflen 
He's the king o^ guid fellows and wale of auld m'en- 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine ' 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. ' 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; 
She s sweet as the evening amang the new hay; 
As blythe and as artless as lamb on the lea, 
And dear to my heart, as the light to my e'e. 

But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird. 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard: 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
Tae wound I must hide that will soon be my dead. 
» Time of collecting the sheep. 2 oxen. • Dwellg. 



254 BURNS. 

The day comes to me, but deligtit brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wud burst in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smiFd upon me; 
O how past describing had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express I 



NAEBODY. 

I HAE a wife o' my ain, 
I'll partake wi' naebody; 

I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 
I'll gie cuckold to naebody, 

I hae a penny to spend. 
There — thanks to naebody; 

I hae naething to lend, 
I'll borrow frae naebody. 

I am naebody '3 lord, 
I'll be slave to naebody ; 

I hae a guid braid sword, 
I'll tak dunts^ frae naebody, 

I'll be merry and free, 
I'll be sad for naebody ; 

If naebody care for me, 
I'll care for naebody. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.' 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

1 Knocks. 
• There is peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity 
of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or what I would call the 
feature-notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under 
almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, "My Wife's 
a wanton wee Thing," if a few lines, smooth and pretty, can be 
adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made 
extempore to it : and though, on further study, I might give you 
something moie profound, yet it might not suit the light-hoi-se gallop 
of the air so well as this random oiink.— Burns to Thomson, 



DUNCAN GRAY. 255 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And neist^ my heart I'll wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



DUNCAN GRAY.* 



Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blythe yule^ night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost* her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and mico skeigh,* 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;* 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd,^ and Duncan pray'd; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin'/ 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn -^ 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 

» Next. 
' The foregoing I submit to j^our liotter judgment; acquit or con- 
demn them as seemeth good in your sight. " Duncan Gray " is that 
kind of light-horse gallop of a,n air which precludes sentiment. Th« 
ludicrous is its ruling feature.— Burns io Thoinson. 

» Christmas. * Tossed. • Proud. 

• At a shy distance . "^ Besought. « Bleared and blind. » Preclpic©. 



266 BURNS. 



Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die? 
She may gae to — France for me, 
Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And 0, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, «fec. 
Duncan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd^ his wrath; 
Now they're crouse and cantie^ baith, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



O POORTITH. 

TUNE— *'l HAD A HORSE." 

O POORTITH cauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive. 
An' 't were na for my Jeanie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have^ 

Life's dearest bands untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shiningP 

This warld's wealth when I think on. 
Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, ^Q, on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her e'en sae bonnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword aye. 
She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, &c. 
•' Smothered. ^ Cheerful and merry* 



GALLA WATER, ETC. 25? 

wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am? 
O why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles, * wealth and state, 
Can never make them eerie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining? 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes. 
That wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Aitho' his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ;' 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
That cof t^ contentment, peace, or pleasurt ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



LORD GREGORY.* 

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, 

Lord Gregory, — ope thy door. 

* Hobgoblins. 2 Marriage portion. ^ Bought. 

♦ A friend of Burns writes--" We had the song of ' Lord Gregory,* 
which I asked for to have an opportunity of calling on Burns to 
recite his ballad to that tune. He did recite it, and such was the 
effect that a dead silence ensued." 



258 BURNS. 

An exile frae her father's ha\ 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it mayna be. 

Lord Gregory, minds' t thou not the groTt 

By bonnie Irwine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love, 

I lang, lang had denied? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow, 
Thou wad for aye be mine ! 

And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

O will thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH I 

WITH ALTEKATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, 

Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, 111 ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, oh I 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, oh ! 
The frost, that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh I 
My tru« Ipv^ 1 slie rrjpd a^d sank down by his sido* 

l^ever to rise again, (>. 



JESSIE. 259 

MEG O' THE MILL. 

AIR—* 'hey, BONNIE LASS, WILL YOU LIE IN A BARRACX.'* 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
She has gotten a coof ^ wi' a claut^ o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady; 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit^ knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen 1* 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,^ 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl I 



JESSIE. 

TUNK— "BONNIE DUNDEE. 



Tbue hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover. 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning. 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

-Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; 

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his la', 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger, — 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. 

* Blockhead. * A scraping. ^ Crooked, bleared. * Farm. * Speech. 



860 BURNS. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Hebe awa, there awa, wandering Willie ; 

Now tired with wandering, hand awa hame ; 
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought the tear in my e'e ; 

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me ! 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers ; 

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
O still flow between us, thou wide-roaring main; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my aia. 



LOGAN BRAES.* 

TUNE— *• LOGAN WATER." 

Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun; 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faet, 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 

Has made our hills and valleys gay; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowewf 

Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

i The song was the fruit of " three-quarters of an hour's medlti^ 
tlon " hy the poet in his elbow -chair, on the wickedness of ambitloa 



THERE WAS A LASS. %l 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the trush: 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braea. 

O wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate 1 
As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return I 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry? 
But soon may peace bring happy dayi, 
And WlUie hame to Logan Braes ! 



THERE WAS A LASS.* 

TUNE— " BONIflE JEAN.'* 

Fhsbb was a lass, and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen ; 

fHien a' the fairest maids were met. 
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

And aye &he wrought her mammie's war);^ 

And aye she sang sae merrily ; 
rhe blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers; 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
Her heart was tint, her peace was stoim. 

* Miss Jean M'Murdo, of Dmmlanriic- 



262 BURNS. 



As in the bosom o' the stream 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en; 

So trembling, pure, w^as tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark^ 
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain; 

Yet wistna what her ail might be, 
Or w^hat w^ad mak her weel again. 

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And didna joy blink in her e'e, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

** O Jeanie faii\ I lo'e thee dear; 

O canst thou think to fancy me? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wP me? 

** At barn or byre thou shaltna di-udgt, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells. 
And tent the waving corn wi' me." 

Now w^hat could artless Jeanie do? 

She had nae will to say him na: 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was aye between them twa* 



PHILLIS THE FAm.> 

TUNE—" ROBIN ADAIR." 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such thy morn! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 

Said to be the sister of Jean M'Murdo, 



BY ALLAN STREAM. 26i 

In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share ; 
While yon mid flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 

Down in a shady walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may fortune be, 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fau*. 



BY ALLAN STREAM.' 

TUNE— "ALLAN WATER." 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove. 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;' 
The winds were whispering thro' the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listened to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures manie I 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O dearly do I love thee, Annie !^ 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

ISTae nightly bogle mak it eerie ; 
Nor ever soitow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 

» I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the "Museum" 
In my hand; when turning up "'Allan Water," "What numbers 
shall the Muse repeat," &c., as the words appeared to me rather 
unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I 
Bat, and raved, under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote out one 
to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it is not in my worst 
style. You must know, that in Ramsay's "Tea-Table," where the 
modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan 
says, is "Allan Water," or "My love Annie's verybonnie." This 
last nas certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the 
idea, and, as vou will see. have introduced the line in its place, which 
I presume it formerly occupied; though I likewise give you a choos 
ing line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy. "Bravo," say 
I: "it is a good song."— Burns to Tlionisdn. 

' A mountain west of Strathailan, 3000 feet high.— R. B. 
3 Qr, "0 my love Ajinie's very bonnie."— R. B. 



•264 BURNS. 

Her head upon my throbbing breast, 
She, sinking, said *^I'm thine for ever I" 

While monie a kiss the seal imprest, 
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haimt o' spring's the 'primrose brae; 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? 



HAD I A CAVE. 

TUNE — "robin ADAIR." 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar; 

There would I weep my woes. 

There seek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air! 

To thy new lover hie. 

Laugh o'er thy perjury, 

Then in thy bosom try. 
What peace is there ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me. 
And comena unless the back-yett be a-jee; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye werena comin to me. 
And come, &c. 

At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'dna a flie ; 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE. 265 

But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye werena lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 

Aye vow and protest that ye carena for mc, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; 
But courtna anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

O whistle, and PU come to you, my lad; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad: 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and Til come to you, my lad. 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE. 

TUNE— "JO JANET.'* 

** Husband, husband, cease your stnfa^ 

No longer idly rave, sir ; 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir." 

** One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Is it man or woman, say. 

My spouse, Nancy?" 

•* If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sovereign lord, 

And so, good-bye, allegiance I** 

** Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy! 
Yet I'll try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

**My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think how you will bear it.** 

**I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given, 

My spouse, Nancy. " 
L 



366 BURNS. 



"Well. Sir, from the silent dead 
Still I'll try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you." 

'* I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Then all hell will fly for fear, 

My spaase, Nancy." 



DELUDED SWAIN. 

TUNE— "THE collier's DOCHTKR." 

Deluded swain, the pleasure, 
The fickle Fair can give thee, 

Is but a fairy treasure. 

Thy hopes will soon deceive th«6> 

The billows on the ocean, 
The breezes idly roamin', 

The clouds' uncertain motion,— 
They are but types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature? 
If man thou wouldst be named, 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee ; 
Hold on till thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory. 



SONG. 

TUNR— "THE QUAKER'S WIF*." 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish ; 

The' despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its^nguish. 



HERE IS THE GLEN, ETC. 267 

Take away these rosy lips, 

Rich with balmy treasure I 
Turn away thine eyes of love, 

Lest I die with pleasure I 

What is life when wanting lovet 

Night without a morning 1 
Love's the cloudless summer sim, 

Nature gay adorning. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?* 

A NEW SCOTS SONG. 
TUNE— "the SUTOR'S DOCHTKB." 

Wilt thou be my dearie? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee 1 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie — 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou loe's me ; 
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me- 
Lassie let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



HERE IS THE GLEN.» 

■^UNE— "banks of CREK." 

Hebe is the glen, and here the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village-bell has toird the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid? 

> Burns considered this to be one of his best songs. 
* Igot an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, 
of Heron, which she calls "The Banks of the Cree." Cree is a 
beautiful romantic stream, and as her ladyship is a particular 
friend of mine, I have written this song to it.— R. o. 



268 BURNS, 



*Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, — 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come? and art thou true! 

O welcome, dear to love and me I 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.* 

TUNE— "o'er the hills AND PAR AWAY." 

How can my poor heart be glad. 
When absent from my Sailor lad? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away, 

On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 

As weary flocks around me pant, 

Haply in this scorching sun 

My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 

Bullets, spare my only joy,! 

Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 

Fate, do with me what you may, 

Spare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless midnight hour. 

When winter rules with boundless power; 

* rfjurns was at first pleaaed with these verses, but he afterwardi 
khoaght them unequal and " flimsy. " And his second thoughtt 
were the best. 



HARK! THE MA VIS. 209 

As the storms the forest tear, 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, — 
All I can — I weep and pray, 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 

And bid wild War his ravage end, 

Man with brother man to meet, J 

And as a brother kindly greet : 

Then may Heaven with prosperous gales 

Fill my Sailor's welcome sails, 

To my arms their charge convey, 

My dear lad that's far away. 

On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 



HARK! THE MAVIS. 

TUNB— "CA' the rOWES TO THE KNO^VES." 
CHORUS. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows,* 
My bonnie dearie. 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang I 
Then a f aulding let us gang ! 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midnight houri 
O'er the dewy-bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

' Rolls. 



S70 BURNS. 

Gnaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou^rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown* ray very heart 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows, 
My bonnie dearie. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A\« 

TDXK — 'ONAGH's water-fall.*' 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'erarching 

Twa laugliing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling, sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe; 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 

When first her bonnie face I saw. 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She savs she lo'ee me best of a'. 

»i 

Like harmony her motion; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy s 

Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky ; 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracef u' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair : 

1 stolen. 
' Tb« ladr In whose honour Bums composed this song wm MIm 
Lorlmer, or Craigieburn. 



HO W LANG AND DREA R V. 271 

Hers are the A\allmg chains o' love, 

By conquering Beauty's sovereign law; 

And aye my Chkris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best of a\ 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at siumy noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley. 

The dewy eve, the rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang; 
While falling, recalling. 

The amorous thrush concludes his sang; 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw. 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thoj lo'es me best of a'? 



HOW LANG AND DREARY. 

TUNE — "CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.'* 

How lang and dreary is the night, 
When I am frae my dearie ; 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For ohl her lanely nights are lang; 

And oh ! her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh 1 her widow 'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie ! 

And now that seas between us roar,— « 
How can I be but eerie? 
For oh, &c. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; 

The joyless day how drearie 1 
It wasna sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



272 BURNS. 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS Mia 

TRESS. ^ 

TUNE—" DEIL TAK THE WARS." 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature! 
Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 

Numbering ilka bud which Nature 
Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods, 
Wild nature's tenants freely, gladly stray; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade. 
Nature gladdening and adorning; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 
■ When absent frae my fair. 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky: 

But when, in beauty's light. 

She meets my ravish'd sight. 

When thro' my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart ; 
'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 



LASSIE WI' THE LINT- WHITE LOCKS. 

TUNE — " ROTHIEMURCHIK'S RANT." 
CHORUS. 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonny lassie, artless lassie. 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee, 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O? 
Lassie wi', &c. 

* Miss Lorimer is reported to have inspired these verges. 



THE AULD MAN, 273 

And when the welcome simmer-shOwer 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine boww 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way. 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my frithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, 0?* 



THE AULD MAN. 

TUNE— ** GIL MORICK." 



But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoic'd the day, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled. 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe* 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,* 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless painl 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why com'st thou not again? 

» This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the 
Temal moon, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and th« 
winter night, are regularly rounded.— R. B. 

a Thaw. « Without shelter. 



274 BURNS. 



FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. 

TUNE— "nancy's to THE GREENWOOD GANE." 

Farewell, thou stream that winding flowi 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

Mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling: 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein. 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 

Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me ; 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, — • 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

TUNE— "LUMPS O' PUDDING." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie^ wi' mair. 

Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 

I gie them a skelp^ as they're creepin' alang, 

Wi' a cog o' guid swats, ^ and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a f aught :* 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 

« Cheerful. 2 slap. « Jug of good ale. * Fight, 



MY NANNIE'S A WA, ETC. 27{> 

A. towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A nio'ht o' guid fellowship sowthers it a ; 
When at the blvthe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o^ the road he has past? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte^ on her way, 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : 
Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or pam; 
My warst word is— *' Welcome, and welcome agam! 



IVIY NANNIE'S AWA. 

TUNB-" THERE'LL KEVEB BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME/ 

Now in her oreen mantle blvthe Nature arrays. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; 
But to me it's delightless— my Nannie's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn. 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn: 
They pain mv sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie— my Nannie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breakmg dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the mght-fa , 
Gie over for pity— my Nannie's awa. 

Come Autumn sae T3ensive, in yellow aud gray. 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; 
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-drivmg snaw, 
Alane can delight me— now Nannie's awa. 



SWEET FA'S THE EVE.^ 

TUNE—" CRAIGIEBURN-WOOD." 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn, 
And blythe awakes the morrow, 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

» Solders ^ Mistake and stumble. _ 

» «ums again celebrates Miss Lorimer. Craigieburn-wood is sit«- 
i.t6do?\he banks of the river Moffat. The woods of Craigiebura 
and of Dundrief, were, at one time, favourite haunts of our poet. 
tCurrie.) 



276 BURNS. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing : 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 
Yet dare na for your anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart, 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 
If thou shalt love anither, 

When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree, 
Around my grave they'll wither. 



O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YETi 

TUNE— "LET MK IN THIS AE NIGHT." 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet? 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit? 
For love has bound me, hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

O rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
Tak pity on my w^eary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

HER ANSWER. 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain 1 
Gae back the gait ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



SONG. 277 

CHORUS. 

I tell you now this ac night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
And ance for a' this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest* blast, at mirkest'* hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours. 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, ; 

That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The sweetest flower that decked the mead^ 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The weird* may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The bird that charm 'd his summer-day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey : 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 



SONG. 

TTKB—** HUMOURS OF GLEN. 



Their groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt their perfiune ; 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,* 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 

For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay simny valleys, 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace. 
What arc they? The haunt of the tyrant and slave! 
* Bitterest. « Darkest. > Fate. ♦ Fern. 



278 BURNS. 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fount^ns, 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 

He v^^anders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE E'E. 

TUNE — "laddie lie NEAR ME.'* 

'TwAS na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin' ; 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown' glance o' kindness 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest I 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
.Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

TUNE— " WHERE'LL BONNIE ANN LIE." 

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, 9*^y, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
Oh, nocht but love and soitow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mairl 
Or my poor h.eart is broken ! 
> Stolen. 



MARK yOXD£K FOMP. 
HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 

TUNE— "JOHS ANDERSON", MY JO.*' 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Becomes a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flieJi, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 



MARK YONDER POl^IP. 

TUNE— "DEIL TAK THE WARS." 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 

Round the wealthy, titled bride ; 
But when compared with real passion, 

Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures? 
What are the noisy pleasures? 
Afwe gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art: 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze, 
And courtly grandeur bright. 
The fancy may delight, 
4^t never, never can come near the heart; 
But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity an'ay; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, 
Shrinking from the gaze of day ! 
then, the heart alarming. 
And all resistless cliarmin^. 




BURNS. 



In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul I 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown ; 

Even Avarice would deny 

His worshipped deity, 
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures rolL 



I SEE A FORM, I SEE A FACE. 

TUNE—** THI8 IS NO MT AIN H0D8B." 

O THIS is no my ain lassie. 

Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

Bhe's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen; 
But gleg^ as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks; 
But weel the watching lover marka 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 



O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 

TUNE— *'I WISH MY LOVR WA8 IN A MIRK.*» 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man; 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin^ sun. 

' Quick. • Evening. 



PORLORN, MY LOVE. S81 

iTon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green^^ 

But purer was the lover's vow 
They witnessed in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 
That crimson rose, how sweet and fair I 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling bum, 

Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
And I the world nor wish, nor scorn, 

Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE. 

TUNE— "LET ME IN THIS AB NIGHT." 

POBLOBN, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

CHOBUS. 

O wert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, altered friendship's cruel part, 
To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 
Let me not break thy faithful heart. 
And say that fate is mine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet I 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
wert, &c. 



2^ BU^NS. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

TUNK— "THE LOTHIAN LASSIE." 

Last Xuy a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And aair wi' his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naethiug I hated like men, 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, 
And vow'd for my love he was Sying; 

I said he might die when he liked for Jean: 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 
The Lord forgie me for lying I 

A weel- stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, 
And marriage alf-hand, were his proffers: 

I never loot on that I kennVl it, or car'd; 

Bui thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might liae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 

The deil tak his taste to gae near her! 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear 
her, 

Guess ye how, the jad 1 I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted v/i' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,^ 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 

I giov, r'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier 'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd iier liearin, 
And how her new shoon fit her shachl't^ feet — 

But Heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, 

But Heavens! how he fell a swearin. 

• Dalgarnock is the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where 
ai't. stiii a ruined church and a burial-g::ouud.— R. B. '^ Twisted. 



HEY FOR A LASS, ETC, 28S 

He begged, for Gn.dcsake, I wad be his wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow^ 

I think I maan wed him to-morrow. 



HEY FOR A LASS WP A TOCHER. 

TUNE—*' BALINAMONA ORA." 

AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey, for 9 

lass wi' a tocher. 
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; the nice yello"vf 

guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows. 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
nk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're carest. 
Then hey, &c. 



ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. 

TUNE— "here's a HEAI.TH TO TF .M THAT'S AWA." 
CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art as sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet^ 
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy I^ 

' IHioS Jessy Lewars. 



S84 BURNS. 

kXiho^ thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied; 
Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy! 
Here's a health, &c. 

[ mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day. 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms : 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy 1 
Here's a health, &c. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess b\ the love-rolling e'e ; 

But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy 1 
Here's a htjalth, &c. 



THE BIRKS^ OF ABERFELDY 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy? 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays. 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing. 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the feurnie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 

» N«ar Moness, in Perthshire. The birch-trees were there very 
abundant 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAXD ROVER, ETt\ Sdi; 

III the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy. 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

TUNE— '* MOB AG." 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaws the mountains cover; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden ; 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon 1 

The trees now naked groaning, 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging; 

The birdies dowie moaning. 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 
And every flower be springing. 

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day. 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle- Gordon. 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

TUNE— 'AN GILLE DCBH CIAR PHUBH." 

Stay, my charmer can you leave me? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve xa»\ 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pang^ of lovers slighted; 

Do not, do not leave me sol 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



'2BQ BURNS. 

FULL WELL THOU KNOW'ST.* 



CHORUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to do? 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear? 
O, did not Love exclaim, ^'Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so?" 
Faireg-t maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear, 

No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid, &c. 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. » 

Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling I 
Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 

Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing. 

Busy haunts of base mankind, 
Western breezes softly blowing. 

Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engag'd. 

Wrongs injurious to redress. 
Honour's war we strongly wag'd. 

But the Heavens denied success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 

Not a hope that dare attend ; 
The wide world is all before us — 

But a world witliout a friend ! 

» fhis is supposed to be the last song w^ritten by Bums. " I tried 
m> hand on ' Rothiemurche ' this morning. The* measure is so dif- 
ficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines."— 
R. B. 

^ Lord Strathallan, bewailing his forlorn stat« after the defeat of 
Culloden. 



MUSIXG OX THE ROARING OCEAN, 287 
RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.' 

TUNE— *'M'GREG0R OP RUARA'S LAMEKT.V 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray 'd deploring : 
** Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 

^^O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee !" 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN, 

TUNE — "DRUIMION DUBH." 

Musing on the roaring ocean 
Which divides my love and me ; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weel where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubl'd, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtains draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me. 

Talk of him that's far awa I 

' MiBS Isabella M'Leod, who had lost a sister and abrotljer-m-law. 



BURNS. 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 

TU»«--*'mDRKW AND HIS CUTTT ©UK." 
CHORUS. 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
Blithe was she but and ben : 

Blithe by the banks of Era, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie^ was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Era, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As onie lamb's upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &c. 

The Highland hills IVe wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, &c. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.' 

TUKB— **NEIL GOW'S LAMENTATION POR ABKRGAIRNT.^ 

Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochils rise. 
Par in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

> If fM Puphemia Murray, « Misa Margaret Chi^lm«ri. 



THE LAZY MIST, ETC. 289 

Blest be the wild sequestered shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey 'd. 

When &st I felt their pow'r! 
The tyrant Death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

IBI8HAIR— * COOLUN." 



The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year 1 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown. 
And all the gay foppery of Summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse. 
How quick Time is flying, how keen fate pursues; 

How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain; 
How little of life's scanty span may remain : 
What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn ; 
What ties, cruel Fate in my bosom has torn. 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd I 
And downward, how weakened, how darkened, howpain'dl 
This life's not worth having with all it can give, 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

TUNE— "THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE." 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,* 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
Li a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

» Bank. 

If 



290 BURNS. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fon^dly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany^ fair, 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.» 

TUNE— "INVERCAULD'S REEL." 
CHORUS. 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 

Ye would na been sae shy ; 
For laik o' gear ye lightly' me. 

But trowth, I care na by. 

YestreenI met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

* Miss Jeany Cruikshanks. 
2 Burna was about seventeen 3 ears old when he composed thes« 
rhymes. 

3 Despise. 



I LOVE MY yEAJ^. 

But soiTow tak him that's sae mean; 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows onie saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear 
Be better than the kye. 

Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 



I LOVE MY JEAN.^ 

TUNE— "MISS ADMIRAL GORDON'S STRATHSPBT. '' 

Of a' the airts^ the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best ; 
There wild woods grow^ and rivers row. 

And monie a hill between ; 
By day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

* Written "out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.'* 
2 Points of the compass. 



292 BUI^NS. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that spring! 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. 

TUNE— *' MY LOVE IS LOST TO ME." 

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill, 
Or had of Helicon my fill, 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee ! 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 
On Corsincon^ I'll glow'r and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay I 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coud na sing, I coud na say. 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp,^ thy limbs sae cleaiiy 
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een — 

By Heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame. 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame^ 
And aye I muse and sing thy name, 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 

' ▲ hill near Ellisland. « Slefidor. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 
THE BLISSFUL DAY/ 

TUNE— " SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER*** 

The day retarns, my bosom burnSj 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet, 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er t»he sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes;- 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move, — 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes m between to make us part; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE, 

TUNE—** MISS FORBES'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.'* 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sickcn'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas I for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow^'ret smile; 
Fareweel the ])onnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. 

i Th^ Voet declared Robert Riddel and his wiie to be V' one of the 
happiest ^ lid wo^-tiiiest .naiTi<="i couples i^ the v/orld.'' These 
«taiizaa were compo.«^d lOr the aan'«Yor.su'y of *lieir wedding-day. 



g94 BURNS. 

THE HAPPY TBIO.* 

TUNE — "WILLIE KRRW'© A PECK O' MAUT." 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan came to see ; 

Three blithei- hearts, that lee-lang'^ night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We are na fou, we're no that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are w^e met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been, 
And monie mae we hope to be 1 
We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae nie: 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee I 
We are na fou, &c. 



Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha last beside his chair shall fa\ 
He is the king amang us three I 
We are na fou, &c. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.' 

I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae tvva sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 

I This air is Masterton's: the song mine. The occasion of it was 
this: IMr. Aviiliain Nieol, of the Righ School of Edinburgh, during 
the Autumn vacation, being at Moffat, honest Allan, who was at that 
time c.n a \\sM to DalsAvinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit. We 
had FMo\\ a joyous nieeti)ig, that Mr. Masteiton and I agreed, each 
In f)ur own wav, that we should celebrate the business.— R. B, 

« Live-long. 

* Jean Jetf ly, daugliter of the minister of Lochmabeu. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO, ETC. 295 

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips like roses wet wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white; — 

It was her eea sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyPd, 
She charmed my soul I wist na how ; 

And aye the stound/ the deadly wound, 
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ;' 
But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither: 
Now we maun totter down, John^ 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



TAM GLEN. 

TUNE—'* THE MUCKING O' GEOUDIF/S BYRI,** 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len'. 

To anger them a' is a pity ; 
But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen? 

* Pang. 3 High and smootlle 



296 BURNS, 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow, 
In poortith^ I might mak a fen' \^ 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I maunna marry Tarn Glen? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 

*'Giiid-day to you, brute!" he comes beni 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller ; 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave^ me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten; 

But if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 

Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a si en :* 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen, 

The last Halloween I was waukin^ 
My droukit*^ sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin — 
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! 

Come counsel, dear Tittle, don't tarry; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif you will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 



GANE IS THE DAY. 

TUNE— " GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN." 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute^ o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. 

* Poverty. ^ jyiake a shift. -Deafen. * Leap 

» Wfttching. « Wet. ' Fault. 



WHAT CA.V A YOUNG LASSIE, ETC. 5>9; 
CHORUS. 

Then giiidwife count the lawin/ the lawin, the lawin, 
Then guid wife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair, 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen', 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 

My coggie is a haly pool, ^ 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 



VVHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' AN AULD 

MAN? 

TCTNE— "WHAT CAN A LASSIE DO." 

What can a young lassie, w^hat shall a young lassie 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? 

Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples^ the weary day lang: 

He's doylt* and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows; 
O, dooP on the day I met wi' an auld man 1 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I'll cross him, and rack him, until I heart-break him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 

* Reckoning. » Holy well. ^ Coughs and hobbles. 

♦ Stupid. 6 Sorrow. 



298 BURNS. 

O, FOR AISrE-AOT)-TWENTY, TAM! 

TUNE— "the MOUDIEWORT." 
CHORUS. 

An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tain ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tarn I 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tarn. 

They snooP me sair, and hand me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie,^ Tarn! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
And then comes ane-and-twenty. Tarn. 
An' O for ane, &c. 

A gleib o' Ian', ^ a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tarn ; 

At kith or kin I need na spier. 
An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam, 
An' for ane, &c. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,* 
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,* — 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
An' O for ane, &c. 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

TUNE— "THE LADS OF SALTCOATS," 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wistfully I look and languish 

In that bonnie face of thine ; 
And my heart it stounds^ wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, &c. 

Oppress. 2 Snivelling, s A portion of ground. * Blockhead 
* Hand. « Throbs, 



BESSY AND HER SPEVNJN WHEEL. 230 
THE BANKS OF NITH. 

TUNE — *' KOBIE DONNA GORACH." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 

Where Cummins ance had high command} 
When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I loved so dear, 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand, 

For ever, ever keep me here? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hour consume, 

Amang the friends of early days 1 



BESSY AND HER SPINNIN WHEEL. 

O LEEZE^ me on my spinnin wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,* 
And haps^ me fiel* and warm at e'en I 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh^ descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit® cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
And little fishes caller*^ rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the bieP,* 
Where blithe I turn my spinnin wheel. 

1 A phrase of endearment: "I am proud of thee." 

• That abundantly clothes me, ^ Wraps. * Soft. • Low. 

« Thatched. "^ Sound. « Nook. 



300 BURN'S, 

On lofty aiks^ the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays: 
The craik^ amang* the claver hay, 
The paitrick^ whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin'* round my shiel,* 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great? 
Amid their flarin, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinnin vrheel? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

TUNE— "JOHN, COME KISS MR NOW.'' 

In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field. 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield;^ 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, " I'll be wed, come o't what will;'* 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, — 

*' O' guid advisement comes nae ill: 

** It's ye hae wooers monie ane, 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale^ 

A routhie but, a routhie ben :® 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre \^ 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire.'"® 

*' For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae w^eel his craps and kye," 

He has nae luve to spare for me , 

i Oaks. 2 The corn-rail. ^ Partridge. * Dodging. 

^ Shed. ^ SuPxny nook of a wood. "^ Choose. 

^ A plentiful kitchen and parlour. ^ Sheep-pen. 1° Adds fuel to fir©. 

1 1 Crops and cows. 



FAIR ELIZA. 301 

But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." 

** O thoughtless lassie, life's a f aught ;^ 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But aye fu' han't is fechtin^ best, 

An hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilf u' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill."^ 

** O, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome* luve 

The gowd and siller canna buy : 
We may be poor — Robie and I, — 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne?" 



FAIR ELIZA. 

TUNE— *• THE BONNIE BRUCKET LASSIE.*' 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew^ on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise I 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? 

The offence is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Flgh*. « Fighting. 3 Ale, « 6rladsom©. 

* Look tenderly. 



^ot the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sunny noon; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang : 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,* 
And I hae tint" my dearest dear, 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie^ 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O Woman lovely, Woman fair! 
An Angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to 've gien thee mair, 

I mean an Angel mind. 



THE POSIE. 



O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, 
O luve will venture in, w^here wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood saf? 
green, — 
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year. 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a 
peer ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

* A blockhead came with plenty of wealth, ^ Lost, 

3 No vronder. 



THE BANKS O' DOOM, 303 

rU Iju' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, 
And a' to be a Posie to ray ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' it's locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 
away ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, 
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae clear; 
The violet's for modesty whicli weel she fa's to wear, — 
And a' to be a Posie to mv ain dear Mav. 

1*11 tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve. 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 
remuve, — 
And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May. 



THE BANKS O' DOOK» 

TUNE — "the CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DHJGHT." 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! 

How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 

1 We have this soDg in an earUer and simpler form, as the writer 
ient it to jNIt. Ballantine: Mr. Cimningham, on the authority of an 
Ayrshire legend, discovers the heroine of the song in Miss Ken- 
nedy, of DalgaiTock, who broke her heart for one M'DougaU, of 
Logan: 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the hapuy days, 
When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat. and sae 1 sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 



304 BURNS. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling birj^ 
That wantons thro' the flowermg thorn ; 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed — never to return. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bir4 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Boon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 

And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause luver stole my rose, 
But ah 1 he left the thorn wi^ me. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER' 

TUNE—" WANDERING WILLIE." 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December I 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' son-ow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, Oh ! ne'9r to meet mair. 
Pond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has taken my bosom. 

Since my last hope and my comfort is gone 5 



Aft have I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine. 

And ilka bird sang o its love. 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' hghtsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae off its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wi' me. 

J On parting from Clarinda. 



BEHOLD THE HO UR, E TC, 3U5 

btill as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 

For sad was the parting thou makes me remember 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

TUNE — " OUAN-GAOIL." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart: 
Severed from thee can I survive? 

But fate has wilPd, and we must parti 
I'll often greet this surging swell ; 

Yon distant isle v>dll often hail : 
*'E'en here I took the last farewell; 

There latest marked her vanish'd sail." 
Along the solitary shore, 

While Hitting sea-fowls round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
*^ Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say, 

*' Where now my Nancy's path may be* 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O, tell in£, does she muse on me?" 



WILLIE'S WIFE. ^ 

TUWE— "TIBBIE FOWLER IN THE GLEN." 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkiun-doddie, 

Willie was a wabster- guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din, ^ 
Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



e3^ 



She has an e'e, she has but ane, 

The cat has twa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave* a miller; 
A whiskin beard about her mou. 

Her nose and chin they thi-eaten ither; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 

1 TVillie's wife is said to have been the ^ife of a farmer near 
Ellisland. * Weaver. 3 Sullen and sallow. * Deafen. 



306 BURNS, 

She's bow-hougb'd, * she's hein-shmn'd, 
Ae limpin leg, a hand-breed'^ shorter; 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter : 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shouther; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 

Auld baudrons^ by the ingle sits, 
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; 

But Willie's wife is na sae trig,* 

She dights^ her grunzie® wi' a hushion;' 

Her walie nieves^ like midden-creels,* 
Her face wad fyle^'* the Logan- water; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



AFTON WATER." 



Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murm.uring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton .thy waters her snowy feet lave. 
As gathering sweet flow 'rets she -stems thy clear wa«^e. 

'^ Outkiieed. 2 Hand's-breadtb. 3 Oat. * Neat. 

fi Wipes. « Mouth. "^ Cushion. ^ Big fists. 

• Dung-baskets. ^^ Soil. " Afton, a stream in Ayrshire. 



LOUIS, WHA T RECK I BY THEE, 307 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. 

TUM6— "my mother's ayk glowring o'er me." 

Louis, what reck I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his ocean? 

Dyvor, beggar loons to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's^ bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations, swith awa P 
Reif randies, ^ I disown ye ! 



BONNIE BELL. 



The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly Winter grimly flies : 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters. 

And bonnie blue are the simny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the mornings 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell ; 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 

Mrs. Bums. • Get away. ' Sturdy b«ggari. 



308 BURNS. 

FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

TUNE — "THE HIGHLAND WATCH'S FAKKWELL.** 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for somebody; 
I could wake a winter night, 
For the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon! for somebody! 
Oh-hey I for somebody I 
I could range the world around. 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous loTC^ 

O sweetly smile on somebody I 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody! 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody 1 
I wad do — what wad I not? 
For the sake o' somebody I 



MAY, THY MORN. 

O IVIay, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet. 
As the mirk night o' December, 

For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
And private was the chamber: 

And dear was she I dare na name, 
But I will aye remember. 
And dear, &c. 

And here's to them that, like oursel, 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here's to them that wish us weel ;— 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them; 
And here's to them we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, &c. 



A RED, RED ROSE, 309 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas 1 

And aye the saut tear blins her e'e : 
Drumossie Moor, Drumossie day,* 

A waef u' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. 

Their graves are growing green to se«; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

TUNE— " WISHAW'S FAVOURITE." 

O, MY luve's like a red, red rose, 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O, my luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun: 

[ will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

* The battle of CuUoden, on Drumossie Moor, 



BIO BURNS. 

O, WAT YE WHA'S IK YON TOWN! 

TUKE— "THE BONNIE LASS IN TON TOWN." 

O, WAT ye wha's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin sun upon? 

The fairest dame's^ in yon town, 
That e^enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw, 
She wanders by jon spreading tree ; 

How blest, ye flow'rs that round her blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest, ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year; 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear ! 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town. 
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr; 

But my delight in yon town. 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air; 

And she a lovely little flower. 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon; 

A fairer than's in yon town. 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear; 

I careless quit aught else below. 
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 



1 Mrs. Oswald, of Auchincruive, whose beauty and accomplish 
merits so dazzled Bums, that he resolved to "say n thing at all" 
ubout her, "in despair of saying anything adequate." 



A Vision. 311 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she — as fairest is her form, — 
She has the truest, kindest heart.* 



A VISION. 

TUNE—* CUMNOCK PSALMS." 

As I stood by yon roofless tower,* 

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air; 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care ; 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazily path, 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa*, 
Hasting to join the sweeping Nitb, 

Whase distant roarings swell and fa. 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din; 

Athort the lift they start and shift, 
Like f ortune^s favours, tint as wia 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyeai 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 
His darin look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain 
The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
Might rouse the slumbering dead to hear; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sank wi' joy his former day. 
He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play ; 
I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 

> These lines are in the form of an address from the husband t« 
his wife. 

« The tower belonged to the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, near Duio^ 
fries, a most poetical scene, and often visited by Bums. 



813 BURNS. 



O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

TU^'E— "THE LASS OF LIVINGSTONE." 

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, ^ 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Of earth and air, of earth and air, 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The only jewel in my crown. 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.^ 

TUNE— "THE DEDKS DANG OE'R MY DADDY." 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHORUS. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

i Quarter of the sky. 
' Mary Campbell, my Highland lassie, was a warm-hearted charm- 
ing young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. —R. B. 



yOC KEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. 313 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
ril love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change. 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow. 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll dare the distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine my Highland lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sao bushy, O I 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, 01 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O I 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISSL 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep. 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be! 

He will think on her he loves. 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves. 
Jockey's lieart is still at hameo 



,114 BURNS. 

PEGGY'S CHARMS. » 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art; 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway. 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look that rage disarms, — 
These are all immortal charms. 



XJP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaWj 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east tc west, 

The drift is driving sairly; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering- in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely ; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning, &c. 



THO' CRUEL FATE, 



Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, 

As f ar's the pole and line ; 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 
Peggy was Miss Margaret Chalmers. * Shivering, 



/ DREAM' D I LA K, ETC, 315 

Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 

Xt 4: >|: * « 



I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE 
SPRINGING.^ 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring: 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelling, drumlie^ wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy.'d ; 
But lang or noon, lou<? tempests, storming, 

A' my flowery bliss destroyed. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me. 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill, 
Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



BONNIE ANN. 



Ye gallants bright, I rede* you right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann : 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace. 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night. 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply* lac'd her genty* waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move. 

And pleasure leads the van ; 
In a' their charms and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man : 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 

• Written in the poet's eighteenth year. ' Muddy. 

» Ann Masterton, the daughter of a friend of Burns. 
* Counsel. « Slenderly. • Elegant. 



316 BURNS. 



MY BONNIE MARY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie;^ 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody; 
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.' 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here: 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farevv^ell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and Icud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My lieart's in the Higtilands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

1 Measure. 
' The first half stanza of this song is old, the rest is mine.— B. B. 



THE RANTIX DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 317 
THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

TUNE— "NEIL GOW'S LAMENT." 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity, 
That he from our lasses should wander awa ; 

For he's bonnic and braw, weel favour'd with»'. 
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 

His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 
His fecket^ is white as the new-driven snaw; 

His hose they are blae, and hii: shoon like the slae, 

And his clear siller bucklec they dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hue, &:c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; 

Weel-f eatur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw\ 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wa I a haen him, 

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Xancy maist fetters his fancy, 

— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a\ 



THE RAXTIX DOG THE DADDIE O'T.' 

TUNE— ''EAST NOOK O' FIFE."' 

O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will own he did the faut? 
Wha will buy my groania maut? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair, 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to nie my lane? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain?' 
Wha will kiss me o'er again? 
The rantia dog the daddie o't. 

' An under waistcoat having sleeves. 
* I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young 
girl, a very particular acquaintance'of mine, who was at the time 
under a cloud.— R. B. The " young girl " was Elizabeth Paton. 
3 Tickled with pleasure. 



^18 BURNS, 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. 

I DO confess thou art sae fair, 
I wad been o'er the lugs^ in luve ; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer, 

That lips could speak, thy heart could muTO. 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 

Thy favours are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy, 
How soon it tines its scent and hue, 

When pu'd and worn a common toy! 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide ; 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhil^ 
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside, 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 



Yon wild mossy mountains, sae lofty and wide. 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather t« 

feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flocks, as he pipes on his reed. 
Where the grouse, &c. 

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, clear stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang the wild mountains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair; 
O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie, because she lo'ea mt^ 

* Ears. 



IVffA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR, ETC. %\% 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs? 
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darta, 
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, 
Has lustre out-shining the diamond to me ; 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her armB,— 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? 

Wha is that at my bower door? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here ! 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ; 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye'll keep me waukin' wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ; 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain ; 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



FAREWELL TO NANCY.* 

Ab fond kiss, and then we sever ! 

Ae f areweel, alas, for ever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge theet 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 

* Supposed to have been addressed to Clarinda. 



320 BURXS. 

Who shall say that fortune grieves him. 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted ! 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest I 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. 
Ae fond kiss, and then w^e sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears 111 pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 



THE BONNIE BLINK 0' MARY'S E'E. 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, 

An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring; 
By Girvan's fau-y-haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 

There ^vi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e 1 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth, 

Is often lau'd o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, — 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e I 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA, 321 

OUT OYER THE FOETH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But vrhat is the north and its Highlands to me? 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the ^vild rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may bef 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA. 

TUNE— "OWRE THE HILLS AND FAR AWA." 

HOW can I be blithe and glad. 

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa? 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e, 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door. 

My friends they hae disowned me a'; 

But I hae ane will take my part. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pail* o' gloves he gae to me, 

And silken snoods^ he gae me twa; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will cleed'^ the birken-shaw; 

And my sweet babie will be born. 
And he'll come hame that's far awa. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 

TUNE— "BANKS OF BANNA." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
A place wnere body saw na' ; 

Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
The gowden locks of Anna. 

» Elbands for binding the hair. ^ Cloth«, 



8^ BURNS, 

The hungry Jew in wilderness, 
Rejoicing o'er his manna, 

Was naething to my hinny bliss 
Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress, or Sultana, 
While dying raptures .n her arms, 

I give and take with Anna 1 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day I 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Hk star gae hide thy twinkling ray. 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a'; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna I 



BANKS OF DEVON. 



How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
fair! 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon, 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower. 
In the gay rosy mom as it bathes in the dew I 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chill hoary wing a« ye usher the dawn I 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn I 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose; 

A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 

» Composed on Charlotte, a sister of the poet's friend Ga^ 
HamiltOQ. 



ADOJVX fr/.\v^/xc; Nrrn. 3i}3 

ADOWN WINDING NITII. 

TUNE—" THE MDCKIN O' GEOKDIK'S BYkE." 

Adown winding Nitli I did wander, 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis^ to muse and to sing. 

CHORUS. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi' her can compare ; 

Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 
Awa, &c. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmei^ 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa, &c. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
Her breath is tlie breath o' the woodbine, 

Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, &c. 

Her voice is the song of the morning 

That wakes through the green-spreading grove, 
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains. 

On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, &c. 



But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
While worth in the mind o' my Phillia 

The bloom of a fine summer's day I 
Will flourish without a decay. 
Awa, &c. 

> Misg PliiUis M'Murdo. 



324 BURN'S. 

STREAMS THAT GLIDE.' 

TUNE— "MORAG." 

Streai>is that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains I 
GloYvdng here on golden sands, 
There commix 'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands: 
These, their richly -gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves : 
Give me the stream that sweetly layea 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches 3old to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way. 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil*. 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave tlie tyrant ancl the slave; 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here without control, 
Nature reigns and i-ules the whole ; 
In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood; 
Life's poor day 111 musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods ware, 
By bonnie Castle Gordon. 



tHE DEIL'S AWA WI' THE EXCISEMAN.* 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town. 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman; 

And ilka wife cry'd, '' Auld Mahoun, 
We wisn you luck o' your prize, man. 

* • We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink^ 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man; 

And monie thanks to the muckle black Deil 
That danc'd awa v^d' the Exciseman. 

' A remenibraRce of Burns' visit to Gordon Castle. 1787. 
^ A" a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns, 
oeinj^ called upon for a song, handed these verses to the president, 
written on the back of a letter.- -C'rowiefc. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL, ETC. 325 

'* There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, 
There's hornpijies and strathspeys, man; 

But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
Was — The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. 
We'll mak our maut," &c. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. 

TUNE— "LIGGEllAM COSH." 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free. 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me? 
Leslie is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I do nocht but glowr, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



e WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR, 

TUNE— "HUGHIE GRAHAM." 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 

And I a bird to shelter there, 
When wearied on my little wing : 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 

O gin my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' I 



%2j6 SURNS. 

Oh ! there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.* 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 

TUNE— *'CAULD KAIL.'' 

Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder: 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The world's wealth and grandeur; 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charma, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



WHERE ARE THE JOYS. 

TUNE— "saw YEaiY FATHER?" 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning. 
That danc'd to the lark's early song? 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among? 

No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair: 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it tliat summer's forsaken our valleys. 

And grim, surly winter is near? 
No, no ! the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

' The third and fourth verses are copied from Withei*spoon'i 
Collection of Scotch Songs." 



O SAW YE MY DEAR, ETC. 327 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caus'd this wreck in my bosom, 
Is JennVj fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come, then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish 

Enjoyment 111 seek in my woe. 



O SAW YE ]MY DEAR. 

TUXE— .''WHEN SHE Ci.M BEN SHB BOBBIT." 

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely? 
She s down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely 1 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou'st broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



THOU HAST LEFT IVIE E^T:R, JAMIE.* 

TUXK— "FEE HIM, FATHER." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften has thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never I 

> This song was written, as the author t^lls us, * by the lee side of 
tb bowl of punch," vrhich had already conquered every othcT guesU 



328 BUR.VS. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo, 

While my heart is breaking; 
8oon my weary een I'll close — 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken 1 



MY CHLORIS. 

TCWE— "MY LOD&DsG 18 ON THE COLD GROUND." 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves,* 

The primrose banks how fair: 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherd's, as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
The courtier tells a finer tale ; — 

But is his heart as true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast of thine: 
The courtiers' gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 

* On ray visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetif 
name of ti.e lovely goddess of my in?«;pi ration ) she suggested an idea. 
which I. on my return from the visit, wrought into the toilowiag 
Bong. — To Mr. ThomsGU, Nov., 1794. 



LET XOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN, 329 
CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.> 

TQNE— "DAINTY DAVIE." 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day. 
The youthful, channing Chloe; 

From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHOKUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn. 
Youthful Chloe, channing Chloey 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feathered people you might see 
Perch'd all around on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest melody 
They hail the charming Chloe : 

Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 



LET NOT WOjMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. 

TUNE— "DUNCAN GRAY." 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain. 

Fickle mail is apt to rove : 

Look abroad through Nature's range, 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove? 

* "Ciit down." to adopt tlie phrase of Burus, from a song ia 
Kaaisaj^ b * Teii-Tabii* Misceilanv." 



330 BURNS. 



Mark the winds, and mark the skies; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise ; 

Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of siily man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan? 
We'll be constant while we can — 
You can be no more, you know. 



O PHILLY.* 

TDNB— "THE SOW'S TAIL. 



HE. 



O Philly, happy be that day 
When, roving through the gather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stov/n away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



SHE. 



O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 



HE. 



As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka diiy mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 



SHE. 



As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky. 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to ray eye, 
As is a sight o' Pliilly. 

5 These verses were composed in a morning walk, "through ^ 
keen-blowing fro t," 



JOHN BARLE YCORN. 331 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy 



The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips ntctar in the opening flower, 
Compared wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

8HE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet, 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may wiiv' 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie! 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

A BALLAD. 

Tbxbb were three Kings into the east, 
Three Kings both great and high; 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him dowa^ 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

J#hn Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd '^^hem aU. 



a32 BURNS. 

The sultry suns of Summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong, 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show^'d he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded mto age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgel'd him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 

To work him farther woe ; 
And still, as signs of life appeared, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he cnish'd him 'tween two stones. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank. 
Their joy did more abound, 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise; 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, ETC. 333 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

Twill heighten all his joy: 
Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS. 

TUNE— "ROY'S WIFE." 
CHORUS. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ! 
Well thou know'st my aching heart, — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity? 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard, 

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 

An aching, broken heart, my Katy? 
Canst thou, &c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy 1 

Thou may'st find those will love thee deaf^» 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, &c. 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

TUNE— "ay WAUKIN O." 
CHORUS. 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care? 

Can I cease to languish, 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish? 
Long, &c. 



334 BURNS. 

Every hope is fled, 
Every fear is terror; 

Slumber even I dread, 
Every dream is horror. 
Long, &c. 

Hear me, Powers divine I 
Oh ! in pity hear me ! 

Take aught else of mine, 
But my Chloris spare me ! 
Long, &c. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

TCNE~''COKN RIGS ARE BONNIE." 

It was upon a Lammas night. 

When corn rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath tlie moon's unclouded lightj 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time llcw by, wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was bhie, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amaug the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely; 
1 kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace; 

Her heart was beating rarely; 
My blessing on that happy place,. 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright^ 

That shone that hour so clearly! 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; 

I hae been happy thinking ; 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA, ETC. 330 

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a', 

Amaug the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. 

An' corn ligs are bonnie : 
I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 

Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA/ 

TUNE—' ' GILDE UO Y. ' ' 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar ; 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my Love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh 1 



MY NANNIE, O. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flowa, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd. 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill:- 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ! 

But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal. 
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. 

1 The editors of Burns have discovered two Elizas— and perhaps a 
fwture inquirer may enlarge the number. 



336 BURNS. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, au' young; 

Nae artf u' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, 0. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O : 

The op'ning gowan, wat wV dew, 
Nae purer i£ than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few^ they be? 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's ray penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O; 

But I'm as blythe that bauds Ms pleugb 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, 0{ 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES.* 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Greek grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Were spent amang the lasses, O ! 

* On this song Burns indites the following note: — "I do not s©0 
that the turn of mind and pursuits of guch a one aa the above 
verses describe— one who spends the hours and thoughts which the 
vocations of the day can spare — with Ossian, Shakspeare, Thomson, 
Shenstone. Sterne, &c., are in the least more inimical to the sacred 
interests of piety and virtue, than the, even lawful, bustling and 
fitraining after the world's riches and honours." 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 337 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O; 
What signifies the life o' man. 

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &e. 

The warly race may riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O ; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, ; 
An' warly cares, an' warly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
Green grow, &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: 

The wisest man the warP e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0. 
Green grow, &c. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dean 

Her noblest work she classes, O ; 
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 

TUNE— "I HAD A HORSE, I HAD NAE MAIB." 

Kow westlin winds and slaught'ring guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, vfide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary f aiTaer ; 
4nd the moon shines bright, when I rove at night» 

To muse upon my charmer. 

Q 



338 BURNS. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcoclv haunts the lonely dells,* 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves, 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander; 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The iiutt'ring gory pinion ! 

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading -green and yellow : 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
Tlie rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer. 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 

TUNE— "prepare, MY DEAR BRETHREN, TO THE TAVERN LET'8 n#T.* 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight. 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 339 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 
And a bottle like this, are my glor^- and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse — 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse; 
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air? 
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That the big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once w^as persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

** Life's cares they are comforts,"^ a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black 

gown ; 
And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair, 
For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care. 

A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honoirrs masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE 
COUNTRY.^ 

TUNK— ." R06LIN CASTLE." 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure. 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ajrr. 

1 Young's '• Night Thoughts." 
5* BUfDB had been visiting the minister of Loudon, and his home-" 
"ward path led him over solitary moors in a dark and \\'indy evening 
of autumn. For some days, in his own words, he had been " skulk- 
hig from covert to covert under all the terrors of a jail :'' and expect- 
ing almost immediately to embark for Jamaica, he designed these 
lines as a '* fare.vell dh"ge to his native land.^ 



340 BL'J^XS, 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn : 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; 
Tho' deatli in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear: 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves. 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr 1 



THE FAREWELL. 



'i3 



TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBGLTOH 
TUNE— "GUID NIGHT, AND JOY BS Wl' YOU aM" 

Adieu ! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favoured, ye enlighten'd few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba'. 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band. 

And spent the cheerful, festive night; 

Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 
Presided o'er the sons of liofht : 



AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT. 341 

And by that hieroglyphic bright, 
Which none but craftsmen ever saw I 

Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa' I 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line, ^ 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till Order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And You, ^ farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honoured, noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here. 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round — I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



4ND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE^ DOAT. 

TUNE— "jockey's GREY BRKEKS." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues. 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS.' 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, &c. 

1 Sir John Whiteford, the Grand Master. 
'Menie Is the common abbreviation of Marianne. — R. B. 
« This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in EdhF 
burgh, a particular friend of the author. 



342 BURNS, 

The merry plougliboy cheers his team, 
Wr joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The wanton coot^ the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry. 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blest but I. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,* 
And owre the moorland whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 
And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering' wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 

Come Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul. 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 

And maun I still on Menie doat. 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be. 



HIGHLAND MARY.* 

TUNE— *' KATHARINE OGIE." 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie!^ 

^ Wacer-fowl. 2 shuts the gate of the fold. ' Trembling. 
^The foregoing song pleases myself ; I think it is in my happiest 
manner. You will see at first glance that it suits the air. The sub- 
ject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youth- 
ful days ; and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses 
set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis 
the still growitg prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed 
lustre over the merits of the composition.— R. B. 

* Muddy. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 343 

There simmer first unfald her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to ray bosom ! 
The golden hom-s, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



AULD LANG SYNE.^ 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min'? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' lang syne? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne. 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

* An old song into which Burns threw seme of his own flr#. 



344 BURNS, 

We twa liae run about the braeSj 

And pu'd the go wans fine ; 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

From mornin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roared 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,^ 

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught,' 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c.* 



BANNOCKBURN.* 

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 
TUNE—" HEY TUTTIE, TAITIE." 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to glorious victorie. 

1 Friend. ^ Draught. 

' Your meeting-, which you so well describe, with your old school' 
fellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon tha ways of the 
world! They spoil these "social offsprings of the heaj-r " Two 
veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little 
more heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road. 
Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang syne," exceedingly 
expressive? There is an old song and tune y/hicli has often thrilled 
through mysnui; I shall give you the verses in the oiher sheet. 
Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who com- 
posed this glorious fragment!— To Mrs. Dunlop, De\ 17, 1788; and to 
Mr. Thomson, September, 1793:— The air is but mediocre, but the fol- 
lowing song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never 
been in print, nor even in manuscript, until 1 took it down from 
an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air. 

* A friend had got a "grey Highland shelty '" for Burns, and h© 
made a httle excui*sion on it into Galloway. He was particularly 
struck with the scenery round Kenmore. From that place he and 
his companion took the Moor-road to Gatehouse, the dreary country 



THE GALLANT WEA VER, - 34o 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour : 
See approach proud Edward's pow*r— 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 
Traitor! coward! turn and flee? 

Wha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'? 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By Oppression's woes and pains I 
By your sons in servile chains, 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall — they shall be free! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die !* 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

TUNE— "THE AULD WTFE AYONT THE PIBE." 

Where Cart rins rowin^ to the sea, 
By monie a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me. 
He is a gallant weaver. 

being lighted up by frequent gleams of a thunderstorm, whicli 
soon poured down a flood of rain. Burns spoke not a word. *' Whal 
do you think he was about?" asked his fellow-traveller, relating the 
adventure. " He was charging the English army alone with Bruce 
at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on our ride 
home from St. Mary's Isle. 1 did not disturb him. Next day he pro- 
duced the following address of Bruce to his troops."— Mr. Symb, 
^footed by Currie, i. 211. 

' * Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scotchman, I have rarelj 
met with anything in history which interests my feelings as a man 
equal with the story of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a cruel but' 
able usurper leading on the finest army in Europe to extinguish the 
last spark of freedom among a greatly-daring and greatly-injured 
people; on the other hand, the desperate relics of a gallant nation, 
devoting themselves to rescue their bleeding country, or to perish 
with her.— Burns to Earl of Buchan, Jan. 12, 1794. 

a RolUng. 

O* 



346 BURNS. 

Oh, I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,' 
To gie the lad that has the land, 
But to my heart I'll add my hand. 
And gie it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers ; 
While corn grows green in simmer showera, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SONG. 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 
And waste my soul with care ; 

But ah ! how bootless to admire. 
When fated to despair! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair. 
To hope may be forgiven ; 

For, sure, 'twere impious to despair 
So much in sight of heaven. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward -slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp ; 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden-grey,^ and a' that; 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine^ 
A. man's a man, for a' that. 

* Marriage bond, - Coarse woollen cloth. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 347 

For a' that, and a' that, 
Their tinsel show, and a' that : 

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is King o- men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ^ ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He's but a cooP for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man, of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he mauna fa'^ that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree,* and a' that; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that; 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 
Shall brothers be for a' that. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

TUNE — "THE HOPELESS LOVER." 

Now spring has clad the groves in green, 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers; 
The fun'ow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

> Conceited fellow. « Blockhead, • Try. 

* Maj- be conquerors, 



348 BURNS. 

The trout within yon wimpling bum 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was once that careless stream; 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows. 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine : till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now beneath the withering blast. 

My youth and joy consume. 

The w^aken'd lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky. 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
C witching love, in luckless hour, - 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or xifric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, ^' Hope nae mairP 

What tongue his woes can tell? 
Within whose bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



CLARINDA. 



Clarinda, mistress of my soul. 
The measur'd time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pol© 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 
Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 

Depriv'd of thee, his life and light. 
The sun of all his joy? 



PVHV, WHY TELL THY LOVER, ETC, 34D 

We part — but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other ligiit shall guide my steps, 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 

Has blest my glorious day ; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray? 



WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 

TUNE— "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT.'* 

Why, why tell thy lover, 

Bliss he never must enjoy? 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie? 

O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris, all the theme ! 

Why, why would'st thou, cruel, 
Wake thy lover from his dream? 



CALEDONIA. 

TUNE— "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT.'* 

There was once a day, but old Time then was you^g, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprung : 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain. 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, 

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war. 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; 
Her grandsire, old Odin, trii;mp'ianrly swore, 

*' Whoe'er shall provoke tliee, th' encounter shall rue!'' 
With tillage, or pasture, at times she would sport, 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort. 

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 



350 BURNS, 

Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's^ strand; 
Repeated, suecessive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air, and they plundered the land: 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly — 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north. 

The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore :"^ 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd. 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.' 

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance. 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: 
For brave Caledonia immoiial must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, 

The upright is Cliance, and old Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; 

Then, ergo^ she'll match them, and match them always.* 

1 The Romans. ^ The Saxons and Danes. 

3 Two famous battles in which the Dau.-.s or Norwegians were de- 
feated. — Currie. 

* This sin^lar figure of poetry refers to the 47th proposition of 
Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of the hypothenm«« 
ii alwa^** *^ual to the square of the two other p* ^es.— Curri«, 



ON THE BA TTLE OF SlIERIFE-MUIR. 351 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, BETWEEN 
THE DUKE OF AllGYLE AND THE EARL OF 
MAR/ 

TUNE— "THE CAMKRONIAN RA.NT." 

*^ O CAM ye here the fight to shun? 

Or herd the sheej) wi' me, man? 
Or were you at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man?" 
I saw the battle sah' and tough, 
And reeking-red ran monie a sheugh,' 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, ^ and see the cluds,'' 
O' clans f rae woods, in tartan duds, ^ 

Wha glaum'd'^ at Kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 
To meet them were na slaw, man ; 

They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 
And monie a bouk' did fa', man ; 

The great Argyle led on his files, 

I wat they glanced twenty miles : 

Tbey hack'd and hash'd, while broad-sworda 
clash'd. 

And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 
Till fey^ men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the philibegs. 

And skyrin tartan trews,® man, 
When in llic teeth they dar'd our Whigs, 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets opposed the targe. 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they f rae the sheath ; 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos,^^ man. 

''0 how deil. Tarn, can that be true? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man: 
I saw mysel, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 

• This poem, I am pretty well convinced, is not my brother's, but 
more ancient than his birth.— G. B. 

« Ditch. 3 Noises. * Clouds. » aothes. 

• Snatched at. "^ Body. « Marked for death. 

• Trousers. ^^ J)oves. 



352 BURNS. 

And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig^ wi' a' their might, 
And straught to Stirling winged their flight; 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
And monie a huntit, poor red -coat, 
For fear amaist did swarf, '^ man." 

My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae guid-will 
That day their neebors' blood to spill; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at blow% 

And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen 
Amang the Highland clans, man ; 

I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, 
Or fallen in enemies' hands, man : 

Now wad ye sing this double fight. 

Some fell for wrang, and some for right ; 

But monie bade the world guid-night ; 

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 

By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 

Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

TUNE— "push about THE JORUM." 

April, 1794 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the louns beware, Sir. 
There's wooden walls upon our sea8, 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,* 

And Criffel* sink to Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Fal de ral, &c. 

Bridge. * Swoon. ' A high hill at the source of the Nith. 
* A mountain at the mouth of the same rirer. 



(9, WHA IS SHE THA T LO'ES ME. 353 

O let us not like snarling tykes* 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon' 

And with a rung^ decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted I 
Fal de ral, &c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca'* a nail in't ; 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; — 
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fal de ral, <fca 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-born brother. 
Who would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be d — d together ! 
Who will not sing, '' God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, ^* Grod save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 



O, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME. 

TUNE— "MORAG." 

O WHA is she that lo'es me. 
And has my heart a-keeping? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping. 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart. 

My lassie, ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind, 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

1 Dogs. ' Ragamuffln. ^ Cudgel. * Drire. 



354 BURNS, 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 
In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 
O that's, &c. 

If thou hadst heard her talking, 
And thy attentions plighted, 
That ilka body talking, 

But her, by thee is slighted, 
' And thou art all delighted ; 
O that's, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one; 

When frae her thou hast parted, 
If every other fair one, 

But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted; 
O that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie, ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind^ 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



CAPTAIN GROSE. 

TUNE— "SIR JOHN MALCOLM." 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Gro«e? 

Igo and ago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes? 

Tram, coram, dago. 

Is he South, or is he North? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies? 

Igo and ago. 
And eaten like a wether-haggis? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane? 

Igo and ago, 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame? 

Iram, coram, dago. 



WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T. 355 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him ! 

Igo and ago ; 
As for the deil, he daur na steer^ him. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago, 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation 1 

Iram, coram, dago. 



WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T. 

First when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair*— 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd ; — 

Whistle owre the lave o't.' 

How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet. 
I could write — but Meg maun see't^ 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 

M olMt. * Inquire no more* * The r«it of it^ 



356 BURNS. 

O, ONCE I LOV'D A BONNIE LASS.^ 

TUNE— "I AM A MAN UNMARRIED." 

O, ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still ; 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal lal de ral, &c. 

As bonnie lassies I hae seen, 

And monie full as braw, 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

Bhe dresses aye sae clean and neat. 

Both decent and genteel • 
And then there's something in her gait, 

Gars'^ onie dress look weel.^ 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart, 
3ut it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

* For tL V ^wn part, I never had the least thought or inclination of 
turning p.>wi till I .^ot once heartily in love, and then rhyme and 
song were, in a manner, the spontaneous language of my heart. 
The following composition was the first of my performances, and 
done at an early period of my life, when my heart glowed with honest 
warm simplicity; unacquainted and un corrupted with the ways of 
% wicked world' The performance is, indeed, very puerile and silly; 
but I am always pleased with it, as it recalls to my mind those happy 
days when my heart was yet honest and my tongue was sincere. 
The subject of it was a young girl who really deserved all the praises 
I have bestowed oa her.— R. B. She was the poet's companion in th« 
harvest-field. 

2 Makes. 

s The thoughts in the fifth stanza come finely up to my favourite 
idea— a sweet sonsie lass,— R. B. 



YOUNG JOCKEY, ETC. 357 

Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis tliis enchants my soul ! 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control.' 

Fal lal de ral, &c. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,* 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'u' my een sae bonnie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma'; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw; 
And o'er the lea I look fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen* hameward ca', 
An' aye the night comes round again. 

When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



MTHERSON'S^ FAREWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie : 
MTherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring and danc'd it round, 

Below the gallows tree. 

3 The seventh stanza has several minute faults; but I rememl>«c 
I composed it in a wiH enthusiasm of passion.— R. B. 

2 The plough. a Praised. * Oxen. 

• A noted Highland robber, whose daring is portrayed In tht 
TersdS. He broke his violia at the foot of the gallows. 



358 BURNS. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath! — 

On monie a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Untie these bands from off my'hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt* and strife : 

I die by treachery : 
It burns my heart I musr depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright^ 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame di stain his name, 

The wretch that dare not die I 
Sae rantingly, &c. 



THE DEAN OF FACtJLTY. 

A NFW BALLAD. 
TUNB— "THE DRAGON OP WANTLKT." 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 

That Scot to Scot did carry; 
And dire the discord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen. Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob^ for the famous Job-« 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

This Hal, for genius, wit and lore, 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shows that heaven can boil the pot> 

Though the devil — in the fire. 
» Trouble. ^ Henry Erskine and Robert Dund»». 



FLL A YE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 351 

Squire Hal, besides, had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision ; 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and die, 

Ye heretic eight and thirty 1 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your Honours and a certain King, 

In your servants this is striking — 
The more incapacity they bring, 

The more they're to your liking. 



DLL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

Pll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green again; 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 
And see my bonnie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess. 
What brings me back the gate again, 

But she, my fairest faithfu' lass. 
And stownlins* we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin-time draws near again; 

And when her lovely form I see, 
O haith, she's doubly dear again I 

» By stealth. 



SCO BURNS, 



A BOTTLE AND FRIEND, 

There's nane that's blest of human kind. 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 

Fal, lal, Ac. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! 

What wad ye wish for mair, man? 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be o' care, man? 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : 
Believe me, happiness is shy. 

And comes not aye when sought, man. 



I'LL KISS THEE YET. 

TUNE— "THE BRAES O' BALQUIDDER.* 
CHORUS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

And I'll kiss thee o'er again, 

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison! 

Hk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young Kings upon their hanseP thron© 

Are no sae blest as I am, 1 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

When in my arms, wi' a* thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

And by thy een sae bonnie blu«, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, O ; — 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

* Throne first occupied. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 361 

ON CESSNOCK BANKS. ^ 

TUNE— "IF HE BE A BUTCHER NEAT AND TRIM.** 

On Cessnock banks a lassie^ dwells ; 

Could I describe her shape and mien; 
Our lasses a' she far excels, 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's sweeter than the morning dawn, 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's stately like yon youthful ash 

That grows the cowslip braes between, 

And drinks the stream with vigour fresh; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's spo^'Jess like the flow'ring thorn, 

With flow'rs so white, and leaves so green, 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her looks are like the vernal May, 
When ev'ning Phoebus shines serene, 

While birds rejoice on every spray ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en. 

When flow^'r-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow. 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene. 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
The pride of all the flowery scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem ; 
An- she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

» This song was an aarly production. It v/as recovered by the 
•ditor /rom the oral c<>inmunication of a lady residing at Glasgow, 
whom the bard in early life affectionately admired.— Cromefc. 

2 The "lassie" was Ellison Begbie, a farmer's daughter, but then 
the servant of a tamily living about two miles from Bums. 
P 



362 BURNS, 

Her teeth are like the nightly snow 
When pale the morning rises keen, 

While hid the murmuring streamlets flow; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe. 
That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 
' They tempt the taste and charm the sight; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

^Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, 
An' chiefly in her roguish een. 



PRAYER FOR MARY.* 

TUNE— "blue B0NNET8. 

Powers celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own, — 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 
Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 

Breathing in the breeze that fans her. 
Soothe her bosom into rest ; 

' Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve of the Poet's dOc 
parture to the West Indies. — Cromek. 



YOUNG PEGGf. S63 

Guardian angels, O protect her^ 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles mt. 

Make her bosom still my home. 



YOUNG PEGGY. > 

TUNE— *' LAST TIME I CAM O'ER THE MDIR." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lasi. 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each freshening flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has graced them, 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them r 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her, 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of sm-ly savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And fretful envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth, 

From ev'iy ill defend her : 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 

■* This was one of the poet's earliest compositiona.—OomdIk 



364 BURNS. 

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE 
COMES HAME. 

A SONG. 

By yon castle Vv^a' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down carae— 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 
"We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame — - 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yard; 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown : 
But till my last moment my words are the same — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



THERE WAS A LAD. 

TUNE— '*DAINTIB DAVIE." 

There was a lad was born at Kyle,* 
But what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' she wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

J Kj'le, a district of Ayrshire, 



TO MARY, 365 

3e'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a', 
He'll be a credit 'till us a', 
We^U a* br proud o' Hobin. 

But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin'. 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye, gar, 
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar, 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessins on thee, Eobin ! 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', 
Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin' Robin, 



TO MARY.' 

TUNE— •* EWE-BUGHT8, MARION." 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

And leave auld Scotia's shore? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across the Atlantic's roar? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine : 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn to the Heavens to be true : 
And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

» Mary Campbell. In my very early years, when I was thinking of 
going to the West Indies, 1 took the following farewell of a dear 
|irl.-R. B. 



366 BUI^iVS. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join. 

And curst be the cause that shall part us I 
The hour and the moment o' time. 



MARY MORISON. 

TUNE-— "BIDE YR YET." 

Maky, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make the miser's treasure poor; 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,* 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

*' Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? 
Or canst thou break that heart of hisj 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown I 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



THE SODGER'S RETURN.' 

AIR— "THE MILL, MILL, O." 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn. 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning ; 

1 Dust. 
• A soldier, passing by the window of an inn, suggested these 
touching lines. The Poet called him in, and asked him to relate hia 

adventures. 



THE SODGER'S RETURN'. ZS2 

I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reached the bonnie glen. 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be. 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain w^ad be thy lodger ; 
I've serv'd my King and Country lang— 

Take pity on a sodger ! 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever: 
Quo' she, ** a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare. 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockadt, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't." 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose- 
Syne^ pale like onie lily ; 

She sank within my arms and cried, 
" Art thou my ain dear Willie?" 

iThen. — ' 



368 BURNS. 

*^ By Him who made yon sun and skj", 
By whom true love's regarded, 

lam the man; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 

*^The wars are o'er, and Pm come hamo 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted; " 
Quo' she, ' ^ my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen^ plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly !" 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger's wealth is honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.' 

TUNR— "THE WEAVER AND HIS SHUTTLE, O."* 

My Father was a Farmer, upon the Carrick border, 0, 

And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O ; 

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er • 

farthing, O — 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth 

regarding, O. 

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was 
charming, O: 

My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my educa- 
tion, 0; 

Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. 

' Farm. 
« The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in 
versification; but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my 
heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it 
over.— R. B. Mr. Cunningham found traces of the poet's early hia^ 
tory in these lines. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 353 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's 
favour, O; 

Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each 
endeavour, O: 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by frienda 
forsaken, O; 

A.nd when my iiope was at the top, I still was worst mis- 
taken, O. 

Then, sore harassed, and tir'd at last, with Foilune's vain 
delusion, O; 

I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this 
conclusion, O: 

The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill un- 
tried, O; 

But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would en- 
joy it, 0. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to befriend 

me, O; 
Bo I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain 

me, O. 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me 

early, O; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune, 

fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd 

to wander, O ; 
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O ; 
No view nor care, but shun whatever might breed me pain 

or sorrow, O ; 
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O ; 

Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with ail her 
wonted malice, O; 

I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it far- 
ther, O; 

But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard 
her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O, 

Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O ; 

Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd 
folly, O; 

But come what will, I've sworn it, still, I'll ne'er be melan- 
choly, O. 



370 BURNS, 

AH you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting 

ardour, O, 
The more la this you look for bliss, you leave your view 

the farther, O; 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 

you, O, 
A "cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer befoie 

you, O. > 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER 

SON. 

TUNE—" PINLAYSTON HOUSE." 

Fate gave the world, the arrow sped 

And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart ! 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid: 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails herravish'd young; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond, I bare my breast ; 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest 1 



BONNIE LESLEY.^ 

TUNE— "THE COLLIER'S BONNIE DOCHTIE." 

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley, 

As she gaed o'er the border? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither 1 

i Miss Lesley Baillie. The ballad was composed by Bums aft«p 
l|>©nding a day with the lady's family, then on their way to England. 



AMA.VG THE TREES, 371 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee: 
Thou art divine. Fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, ** I canna wrang thee." \ 

i 
The Powers aboon will tent thee : 

Misfortune sha'na steer* thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



AMANG THE TREES. 

TUNE— "the king OF FRANCE, HE BAD A RACB.** 

Amang the trees, where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing, : 
'Twas Pibroch,^ Sang, Strathspey, or Reels, 

She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels, 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. — 

Their capon craws and queer ha, ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungi-y bike did scrape and pike 

Till we were wae and weary, : 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 

♦ •**♦* 

» Hurt. 

* A Highland warsong adapted to the bagpipe. 



372 BURNS. 

WHEN FIRST I CAME TO STEWART KYLE. 

TUNE— "I HAD A HOSBB AND I HAD NAE BfAlR.'* 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady, 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye : 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' onie body, 
My heart was caught before I thought. 

And by a Mauchline lady. 

♦ ♦ 41 ♦ « ♦ 



ON SENSIBILITY. 



TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIBIH), MRS. DtW 
LOP, OF DUNLOP. 

AIR~" SENSIBILITY." 

Sensibility, how charming, 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; 

But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well. 

Fairest flower, behold the lily. 

Blooming in the sunny ray : 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the skies. < 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords, tliat vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 373 

MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY.' 

TUNE— *'GALLA WATER." 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be, 

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy, 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 

Were I a Baron proud and high. 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 

The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy. 
* ♦ ^ % 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood. 
Who for her favour oft had sued. 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd^ 
And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 

The springing lilies sweetly prest, 
Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
His bosom ill at rest. 

* My Montgomerie's Peggy was my deity for six or eight months. 
I have tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, that iiregularity in 
the rhyme which, when judiciously done, has such a fine effect on 
the ear.— R. B. 



374 BURNS. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 

He gaz'd, he wished, he fear'd, he blush 'd, 
And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake, 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake. 

Away affrighted springs : 

But Willie followed — as he should, 
He overtook her in the wood : 

He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
Forgiving all, and good. 



O RAGING FORTUNE'S WITHERING BLAST. 

O RAGING Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
O raging Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, ! 

My stem was fair, my bud was green. 
My blossom sweet did blow, O I 

The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild. 
And made my branches grow, O. 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 
But luckless Fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, 1 



EVAN BANKS. 

TUNE— "8AV0URNA DELI8H. 



Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires 
The sun from India's shore retires : 
To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 



WOMEN'S MINDS, JtS 

Oh ! Banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh! stream, whose murmurs still I heart 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within thy breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye : 

Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline? 
Or, where yon grot o'erliangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde? 

Ye lofty Banks that Evan bound, 
Ye lavish woods that wave around, 
And o'er the stream your shaaows throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem'iy brings, 
AU that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet Banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyd«« 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absent ^ lost! 
Return, ye moments of c^ light, 
With richer treasui^es bless my sight I 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

TUNE— "FOR A* THAT.'* 

Tho' women's minds, like winter windf, 
May shift and turn, and a' that. 

The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a' that, 

The bonnie lass that I lo'e best, 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 



376 BURNS. 

But there is ane aboon the lave, 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that; 

A bonnie lass, I like her best. 
And wha a crime dare ca' that? 
For a' that, &c. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. ' 

TUNE— "MISS FORBES' FAREWELL TO BANFF." 

Thou lingering star, with less'ning raj, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
"Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we ^twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, — 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Prociaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression deeper makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
Seest thou thy lever lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 

' The Mary Campbell already mentioned. The stanzas were com- 
posed while Burns lay on some sheaves in the harvest-field, with hii 
©yes fixed on a star of exceeding brightness. 



O LEA VE NO VELS. 377 



TO MARY. 

Could aught of song declare my pains, 
Could artful numbers move thee, 

The Muse should tell, in labour'd strains, 
O Mary, how I love thee ! 

They who but feign a wounded heart 
May teach the lyre to languish ; 

But what avails the pride of art, 
When wastes the soul with anguish? 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
The heart-felt pang discover ; 

And in the keen, yet tender eye, 
O read the imploring lover. 

For well I know thy gentle mind 
Disdains art's gay disguising; 

Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd, 
The voice of nature prizing. 



O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles, 
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel; 

Such witching books are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies reel. 

They heat your brains, and fire your veinS| 
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress. 
Are worse than poison'd darts of steel; 

The frank address, and politesse. 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



&7d ^URN3. 

ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER 

A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.* 

You're welcome to despots, Dumourier; 
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier; 

How does Dampiere do? 

Aye, and Bournonville too? 
Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; 
I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 

I will fight France with you ; 

I will take my chance with you ; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, 

Till freedom's spark is out. 
Then we'll be d — d, no doubt, Dumourier. 



SWEETEST MAY. 



Sweetest May, let love inspire thee; 
Take a heart which he designs thee; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 
Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it I 



ONE NIGHT AS I DID WANDER. 

TUNE — '* J0H2? AM ERSON, MY JO." 

One night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder. 

Upon an auld tree-root : 

J "Robin Adair" begins, "You're welcome to Paxton, Boblii 
Adair." 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST, ETC. 379 

Auld Ayre ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas; 
A cushat crowded o'er me, 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



THE WmTER IT IS PAST.* 

A FRAGMENT. 

The winter it is past, and the simmer's come at last, 

And the little birds sing on every tree ; 
Now everything is glad, while I am very sad, 

Since my true love is parted from me. 
The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear, 

May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest^ 

But my true love is parted from me. 



FRAGMENT. 



Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her I 

Her lips are roses wet wi' dew I 
O, what a feast her bonnie moul 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner 1 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.' 

TUNE— "CAPTAIN O'KEAN." 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale*, 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning. 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

^ GUbert Burns denied his brother's authorehip of this fragment, 
which, in early boyhood, he had heard their mother sing. 

2 These admirable stanzas are supposed to be spoken by the voung 
Pnnce Charle^Edward, when wandering in the Highlands or Scot- 
land, after his ratal defeat at Culloden.— 27io77i«on. 



380 BURNS. 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are numbered by care! 

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, 
A King, or a Father, to place on his throne? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn; 

My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn: 
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, 

Alasl can I make you no sweeter return? 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 

TUNE— "BONNrE DUNDEE." 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 

The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a', 
Their carnage and dress, a stranger would guess. 

In Lou-on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 
Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw: 
There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 

But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'. 



HERE^S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. 

Hebe's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' 1 

Its guid to be merry and wise, 

It guid to be honest and true, 

It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

Here's a health to Charlie^ the chief o' the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 

i Charles Fox. 



DAMON AND SYLVIA, ETC. '^\ 

Ma}^ liberty meet wi' success I 
May pi-udence protect her frae evil! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 
And wander their way to the Devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

Here's a health to Tammie, ^ the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should b« 

But they wham the truth wad indite. [heard 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod,^ a chieftain worth gowd, 

The' bred amang mountains o' snaw I 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

TtJNE— "THE TITHER MORN, AS I FORLORN." 

Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill, 
And glances o'er the brae, Sir, 

Slides by a bower where monie a flower 
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 
To love they thought nae crime. Sir; 

The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, 
While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. 



MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T 

CHORUS. 

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet. 
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane^ 
By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Thomas Erskine. '^ M'Leod, chief of that clai 



S82 BC/y^A^S. 

My lady's white, ray lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude^ 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in the wilderness. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns: 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

My lady's dink, ^ my lady's drest, 
The flower and fancy o' the west; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
that's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, &c. 



O AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 

CHORUS. 

O AYE my wife she dang me, 
An' aft my wife she bang'd me ; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I marry'd ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarry'd. 

Some sairie^ comfort still at last, 
When a' thir days are done, man, 

My pains o' hell on earth is past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man . 

O aye my wife, &c. 

^ Neat. ^ Sorrowful. 



LAV THY LOOP IN MINE, LASS. 383 

THE BANKS OF NTTH- 

A BALLAD. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 

1 love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 

Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 
For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear I 



BONNIE PEG. 



As I came in by our gate end, 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O wha came tripping down the street, 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie I 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting. 

The Queen of Love did never move, 
Wi motion mair enchanting. 

Wi* linked hands, we took the sands 
A-down yon winding river ; 

And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower, 
Can I forget it ever? 



LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

CHORUS. 

O LAY thy loof in mine, lass, 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 

And swear in thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A slave to Love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 

^ Palm of the hand. 



Sdi. BURNS, 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art Queen within my breast^ 
For ever to remain. 
O lay thy loof,&c. 



O GUID ALE COMES. 

CHOKUS. 

O GUID ale comes, and guid ale goeg, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose — 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh, 
They drew a' weel eneugh, 
I seird them a' just ane by ane ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Guid ale hands me bare and busy, 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O guid ale comes, &c. ' 



WHY THE DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE. APRIL, 1782. 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 

1 held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane and something mair; 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



RODIN SIIURE jy IIAIRST. 385 

POLLY STEWART. 

TTTNB— *^YE'kE welcome, CHARLIE STEWART,'* 
CHOBUS. 

O LOVELY Polly Stewart, 

O charming Polly Stewart, 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 

That's half so fair as thou art. 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it ; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he, whase arms shall fauld thy charms^ 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart 1 
O lovely, &c. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden. 
At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin. 

Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick. 

And me the eller's dochter J 
Robin shure, &c. 

Robin promised me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittl«, 
Robin shure, &c, 



38(1 BURNS. 

THE FIVE CJniLINS.'— Aisr ELECTION BALLAD. 

TUNE— ."CHEVY CHASE." 

There were ^l-^^ Carlins in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to London town 

To bring us tidings hame. 

Not only bring us tidings hame, 

But do our errands there, 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggie' by the banks o' Nith, 

A dame wi' pride enough ; 
And Marjorie'* o' the monie Lochs, 

A Carlin auld an' teugh. 

And blinkin Bess* o' Annandale, 
That dwells near Solway side, 

And whisky Jean^ that took her gill 
In Galloway so wide. 

And auld black Joan® fra Creighton peel, 

O' gipsy kith an' kin, 
Five weightier Carlins were na found 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town' 

They met upon a day, 
And monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 

That errand fain would gae. 

O I monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain would gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 

The first ane was a belted Knight,* 

Bred o' a border clan ; 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

Might nae man him withstan' ; 

> The Ave boroughs of Dumfries-shire and Kirkcudbright. 

^ Dumfries. ^ Lochmaben. * Annan. 

* Kirkcudbright. « Sanquhar. 

* The five boroughs returned one member, 

7 Sir James Johnstone. 



THE FIVE C A RUNS. 387 

And he wad doe their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say, 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then neist came in a sodger youth,* 

And spak wi' modest grace, 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

If sae their pleasure was 

He wad nae hecht^ them courtly gift, 

Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
But he wad hecht an honest heart 

Wad ne'er desert his friend 

Now, whom to choose, and whom refusoj 

To strife thae Carlins fell ; 
For some had gentle folk to please, 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nitl\ 

An' she spak out wi' pride, 
An' she wad send the sodger youth; 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court 

She dinna care a pin, 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son. 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale: 

A deadly aith she's ta'en, 
That she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair. 

An' fools o' change are fain : 
But I hae tried this border Knight, 

An' I'll trie him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton pooi 

A Carlin stout and grim, 
The auld guidman, or young guidman, 

For me may sink or swim ! 

For fools may prate o' right and wrang. 
While knaves laugh them to scorn: 

But the sodger's fnends hae blawn the best^ 
Sae he shall bear the horn. 

Captain Miller. '^ Offer. 



383 BUR.VS, 



Then whisky Jean spak owre her drink, 

' ' Ye weel ken, kimmers a\ 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa'. 

And monie a friend that kiss'd his caup, 

Is nov/ a f remit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean, — 

We'll send the border Knight." 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet gi*ay, 

Her auld Scots heart was true. 

* * There's some great folks set light by mt^ 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town, 

Wha I lo'e best at hame." 

So how this weighty plea will end, 

Nae mortal wight can tell ; 
God grant the King, and ilka man, 

May look weel to himsel' 1^ 



THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY DADDIE. 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife, 

He was but a paidlin body, 1 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by his aide 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. 

O haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 

O haud your tongue now, Nansie, O : 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, O : 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my bros«, 

And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ; 
Biit downa do's come o'er me now. 

And, oh, I feel it sairly, 1 

1 Miller was elected. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspir'd fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate^ to seek, ov/re proud to snool,* 

Let him draw near; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song. 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a f rater-feeling strong. 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear, ' 
Can others teach the coarse to steer. 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thrb' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor Inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name 1 

Eeader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-cont/rol 

Is wisdom's root. 

1 Bashful, 2 Submit tamely. 

* Bums mi^ht have remembered Goldsmith's picture or »n 
author:— A child of the public he is in all respects; for while he is 
so able to direct others, how incapable is he frequently found of 
guiding himself! His simplicity exposes him to all the insidious 
approaches of cunning; his sensibility to the slightest invasions of 
contempt. Though possessed of fortitude to stand unmoved the 
expected bursts of an earthquake, yet of feelings so exquisitely 
poignant, as to agonize under the slightest disappointment.— T/ie 
rresent State of Polite Learning, chapter X. 



390 BURNS. 

. M:f HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 

TUNE— " HIGHLANDEH'S LAMENT." 

My Hari-y was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain ! 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 

CHORUS. 

O for him back again, 
O for him l)ack again, 
I w^ad gie a' Knockhaspie's land. 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie up the glen ; 

I sit me down and greet my fill, 
And aye I wish him back again. 

O for him, &c. 

O were some villains hangit high, 
And ilka body had their aiu, 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 
My Highland Harry back again ! 

O for him, ifcc. 



THE UNION. 

TUNR— " SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.*' 

Farewkel to a' Scottish fame, 
Fareweel our ancient glory ! 

Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 
Sae fam'd in martial story ! 



TH',RE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 391 

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tv/eed rins to the ocean, 
To mark ^vhere England's province stands; — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What guile or force could not subdue, 

Tlirough many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain. 

Secure in valour's station, 
But English gold has been our bane: — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation 1 

O would, or had I seen the day 

That Treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour 

I'll mak this declaration, 
We're bought and sold for English gold : — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie, dear ; 

Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, 
Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar. 

He still was a stranger to fear: 
And nocht could him quell, or his bosom assail, 

But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



392 BURNS. 



TiBBIE DUNBAR. 

TUNE— "JOHNNY M'GILL,'* 

O WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Diinbart 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 

1 care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better, for waur, 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbart 



WEE WILLIE. 



Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet; 

Peel a willow -w^and to be him boots and jacket: 

The rose upon the brier will be him t rouse and doublet. 

The X ose upon the brier will be him trouse and doubletf 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 

Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat; 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 



THE HERMIT. 



Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading. 
Think not, though from the world receding, 
I joy my lonely days to read in 

This desert drear, — 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleeding. 

Hath led me here. 

No thought of guilt my bosom sours — 
Free-wilPd I fled from courtly bow'rs; 
For well I saw in halls and tow'rs, 

That lust and pride. 
The arch-flend's dearest, darkest pow'rs, 

In state preside. 

* Written on a marble sideboard, in the Hermitage belonging ta 
Che Duke of Athole, in the wood of Aberf eldy. 



THE HERMIT. 393 

Jt saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted; 
That he was still deceived, who trusted 

To love, or friend ; — 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly. 

And brow-brent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear awa}^ 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield, when storms are blowing 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing, 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 

This grot, than e'er I felt before in 

A palace,— and with thoughts still soarinff 

To God on high, ^ 

Each night and morn with voice imploring, 

This wish I sigh : — 

Let me, O Lord, from life retire. 
Unknown each guilty, worldly fire, 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; — 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly! 

Stranger! if full of youth and riot, 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw 'st a scornful eye at 

The Hermit's prayer; 
But if thou hast good*^ cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care, — 

If thou hast known false love's vexation, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or g'lilt affrights thy contemplation, 

And makes thee pine — 
Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mine 1 



394 BURNS. 



' CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 

And O to be lying beyond thee ; 
O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, 

That's laid in the bed beyond thee. 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie -burn -wood, 

And blythely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

1 hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I canna tell, I maun na tell, 

I dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart. 

If I conceal it langer. 

Beyond thee, &c. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie. 
But oh, what will my torments be. 

If thou refuse my Johnnie ! 
Beyond thee, &c. 

To see thee in anither's arms. 

In love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be seerij 

My heai-t wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine— ' 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me; 
An' a' my days o' life to come, 

I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, &c, 



LAD V OXiJE, 39:j 

HERE'S HIS HEALTH EST WATER. 

TUNE — "the job of JOURNEY- WORK." 

Altho' my back be at the wa', 

And tho' he be the fautor; 
Altho' ray back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water I 
! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawiie he could flatter ; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But the' my back be at the wa', 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
But the' my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 



AS DOWN THE BURN THEY TOOK THEIR WAY 

As down the burn they took their way, 

And thi'o' the flowery dale ; 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay. 

And love was aye the tale. 

With ^'Mary, when shall we return, 

Sic pleasure to renew?" 
Quoth Mary, ' * Love, I like the bum, 

And ay shall follow you." 



LADY ONLIE. 

TUNE— *' ruffian's RANT." 



A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky 1 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Bre^vs guid ale at sliore o' Bucky; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



396 BUJ^NS. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerie blinks the ingle-gleed 
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



AS I WAS A WANDERING. 

TUNE—" KINN MEUDIAL MO MBEALLADH." 

As I was a wandering ae midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were makin' their game; 

Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover. 
Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him 
I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; 

I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin for greeting 
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain: 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! love forsaken's a tormenting pain. 

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 
I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my soitow 
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him, 
I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; 

I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

TUNE—" THE KILLOGIE.'* 

Bannocks o' bear" meal, 
Bannocks o' barley; 

Here's to the Highlandman's 
Bannocks o' barley. 

» Till dawn for weeping. * Barlej. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED, ETC, 397 

Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

Bannocks o^ bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley; 
Here's to the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. : 

Wha in his wae-days i 

Were loyal to Charlie? * 

Wha' but the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 



OUR THRISSLES^ FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIR 

TUNE— "AW A, WHIGS, AWA." 
CHOKUS. 

Aw A, Whigs, awa! 

Awa, Whigs, awa! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louna^ 

Ye'll do nae good at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 

And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 
But Whigs came in like frost in June, 

And withered a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 

But we may see him wauken ; 
Gude help the day when royal heads 

Are hunted like a maukin. 

Awa, Whigs, awa! 

Awa, Whigs, awa! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 
1 Thistles. 



39S BURNS. 



PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

TUNE— "CAULD IS THE E'EXIN' BLAST.'* 

Cauld is the e'cnin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool, 

And dawin' it is dreary, 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill, 

But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey 
Gat grist to her mill. 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE.' 

TUXE— "O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.'* 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Conae boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 

And Charlie's faes before him ! 
I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

And sun that shines so early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie ! 

1 An old song, restored by Burns, 



COMING rHROUGII THE RYE, 399 

BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER 

TUNK— "GALLA water." 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water: 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent^ her brow, 

Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 

The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. 

O'er yon moss amang the heather; 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the w^ater. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 

Down amang the broom, my dearie, 
The lassie lost a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.* 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 

And follow my love through the water. 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

TUNE— "COMIKG THROUGH IKE RYE." 

Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye. 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body — 
Coming through the rye ; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need a body cry? 
* High and Bmooth. * Outburst of gridf . 



400 BURNS. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through tfte glen, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken? 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny's seldom dry; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

TUNE— "JACKY LATIN." 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour,^ my gutcher- has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye, my bonnie sel', 

The toss^ of Ecclefechan. 

baud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

baud your tongue and jauner ;* 

1 held the gate till you I met, 

Syne I began to wander: 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure; 

But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to mv treasui'e. 



EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 

TUNE—" GILLICRANKIE. " 
LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted. 
Till in a declamation-mist, 

His argument he tint it : 
He gaped for't, he graped^ for't, 

He f and it was av^^a, man ; 
But what his common sense came short, 

He eked out wi' law, man. 

^ Move ever. 2 Grandsire. 3 Toast. * Talking. 

5 Groped. 



HAD I THE VVYTE. 40^ 

MB. ERSKENE. 

Collected, Harry stood awee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man; 
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench, sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 



HAD I THE WTTE. 

TUNE— "HAD I THB WTTB iHE Bl^fl MB." 

Had I the wyte, ^ had I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch 'd me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan'^ she shaw'd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben. 

And bade me make nae clatter; 
*'For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman, 

Is out and ower the water:" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 

When I did kiss and dawte^ her, 
Let him be planted in my place, 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame, 

Could I for shame refuse her? 
And wadna manhood been to blame. 

Had I unkindly used her? 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,* 

And blue and bluidy bruised her; 
When sic a husband was frae hame. 

What wife but had excused her? 



1 Blame. « Milking-place. • Fondl©. 

* Instrument for dressing flax. 



402 BURNS. 



I dighted ay her een sae blue, 

And bann'd the cruel randy ^ 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I came through the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



HEE BALOU.^ 

TUNE— "THE HIGHLAND BALOU.'* 

Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawl ie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie,^ 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie :' 
Travel the country thro' and thro', 
And bring hame a Carlisle Cow. 

Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou f urder :^ 
Herry^ the louns o' the laigh countrec, 
Syne® to the Highlands hame to me. 



HER DADDIE FORBAD 

TUNE—" JUMPIN' JOHN.'* 

Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad • 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't^ the browst she brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpln' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, 
And thretty gude shillins and three ; 

A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter, 
The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 

» A child's lullaby. * Neck. « Horse. ^ Succeed. • Plunder. 
« Then. "^ Believe It. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, ETC, 403 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jnmpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 



HERE^S TO THY HEALTH MY BONNIE LASS. 

TUNE-**LAGGA1I BURN/' 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to thv bower door, 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
But I can live without thee : 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 

How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
I'll be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae I to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far-aff fowls ha« feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright^ 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary, 



404 BURNS, 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

TUNE— "THE DUSTY MILLER." 

Hey the dusty miller, 
And his dusty coat ; 
He will win a shilling, 
Or he spend a groat. 
Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 

That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THE CARDIN' 0'T.» 

TUNE— "SALT FiSH AND DUMPLINGS.'* 

I coFT a stane o' haslock woo'. 

To make a wat^ to Johnny o't ; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray,^ 
And tho' his brow be held aboon ; 
Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
The pride of a' the parishen. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the wianin' o't; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

1 '*The little of this song to which antiquity lays claim, is so tri- 
fling that the whole may be said to be the work of Bums. The 
tenderness of Johnnie's wife can only be fully felt by those who 
know that hause-lock wool is the softest and' finest of the fleece, 
and is shorn from the throats of sheep in the summer heat."— 4, 
Cunningham. 

"2 An outer garment, ' Mingled with gray. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BOyMIE MARY. 405 
THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

TUNE— "MAGGY LAUDER." 

I MARKIED with a scolding wife 

The fourteenth of November ; 
^he made me weary of my life, 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years, 

A man and wife together ; 
At length from me her course she steered, 

And gone I know not whither: 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide h«r; 
But sure her soul is not in hell, 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft. 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asimder. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MARt. 

TUNE— **TBtt RUFFIAN'S RANT." 

In coming by the brig^ o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
As day was dawin in the sky, 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary* 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary> 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' TheniePs bonnie Mary. 

» Bridge. 



406 BURNS. 



Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
Her liaflet^ locks as brown's a berry, 
An' aye they dimpled wi' a smile 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang day, 

Till piper lads were wae an' weary, 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay 
For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary, 



THE FAREWELL. 

•njNE— "IT WA8 a' for our RIGHTFU' KING." 

It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 

It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We e'er saw Irish land, 

My dear, — 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell, 

For I maun cross the main, 
My dear, — 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right, and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore. 
My dear, — 

With adieu for evermore. 

J "2^^ the side of the head. 



^T IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE, ETC. 407 

The sodger from the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, 

My dear, — 

Never to meet again. 

When day is gane, and night is come. 

And a' folk bound to sleep ; 
I think on him that's far awa', 

The lee-Ian g night, and weep. 
My dear, — 

The lee-lang night, and weep. 



JT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE. 

TUNE— -"THE maid's COMPLAINT." 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 

Nor shape that I admire, 
Although thy beauty and thy gr^^e 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, 

Nor stronger in my breast, 
Than if I canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see the'^ blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to rhee : 
And as wi' thee I'd v/ish to live, 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

TUNE—'* JASHE, COME TBY MK." 
CHOKUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If tliou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



408 BURNS. 

If thou should ask my love, 
Could I deny thee? 

If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee? 
If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 
Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LA WIN. 

TUNE— "HEY TUTTI, TAITI." 

Landlady, count the lawin,* 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys. 
And Fm but jolly fou. 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now? 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you, 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless tlie King, boySj 
And the companie 1 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now? 

1 Reckoning. 



MV HEART WAS AXCE, 409 

MY LOYE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.» 

TUKB— "LADY BADINGSCOTH'S REEL.** 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa, 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O ; 

I rue the day I sought her, ; 
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd, 

But he may say he's bought her, O ! 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

An' could na preach for thinking o't. 



MY HEAKT WAS ANCE. 

TUNE— "TO THE WEAVERS GIN TE GO." 

My heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart^ me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids; 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 

In every knot and thrum. ^ 

* Thki song and the following one were only partly written by 
Burns. 2 Made. 

' Threr.d remaining at the end of a web. 



410 BURNS. 



I sat beside my warpin wheel, 

And aj e I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock, 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west, 

Wi' visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy 'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 
Will ken as w eel's mysel. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede^ you right, gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



LOVELY DAVIES.'* 

TUNE— "MISS MUIK." 

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try, 

The poet's occupation. 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, 

That whisper inspiration? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair. 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 
Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning. 
When past the sho^'er, and ev'ry flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 
That maks us mair than princes ; 

A sceptr'd hand, a King's command, 
Is in her darting glances. 

1 Advise. 
* Deborah Davies, the yoim,j>esD do.uc::hterof Mr. Davies, of Tenby, 
South Wales. She was the victisn of an unrequited attachment for 
an officer who died abroad. In a letter to this lady, Burns calls 
woman "the blood-rojal of life." 



KENMURE'S ON AND AlVA. 411 

The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, 

Even he her willing slave is ; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conqueiing, lovely Davies. 
My muse to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble powers surrenders ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendours: 
I wad in vain essay the strain, 

The deed too daring brave is ; • 

I'll drap the lyi*e, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 

TONE— ''O, KENMURE'S ON AND AWA, WILLIE." 

O, Kenmuke's on and awa, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig, 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I lo'e best 

The rose thaf 3 like the snaw, 



412 BURNS, 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

TUNE— "O MOUNT AND GO." 
CHORUS. 

O, MOimT and go, 
Mount and make you ready; 

O, mount and go, 
And be the Captain's Lady. 

When the drums do beat, 
And the cannons rattle, 

Thou shalt sit in state. 
And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquished foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we'll go. 
And in love enjoy it. 
O, mount and go, 
Mount and make you ready f 

O, mount and go. 
And be the Captain's lady. 



LADY MARY-ANN. 

TUNE— ••CUAIGTOWN'S GROWING." 

O, Lady Mary-Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower an>ang them a' ; 
My bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growing yet. 

O father! O father! 

An' ye think it fit, 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Eound about his hat. 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary- Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 



THE HIGHLAND IVWOIFKS LAMENT, 413 

Sweet was its smell, 

And bonnie was its hue ! 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its make : 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake, 
And it will be the brag 

0' the forest yet. 

The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were green, 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again. 
For my bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 



THE HIGHLAND WmOW'S LAMENT.^ 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Without a penny in ray pm*se, 

To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there T had three score o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie I 
Skij^ping on yon bonnie kuowes, 

And Casting woo' to me. 

1 T do not know on wbat authority Mr. Cunningham assigns thi» 
Jacobite song to Burns; for I have heard cid ladies sing it who re- 
mHiiibcr its csisteuca anterior to the poet's tixn.e.~ Moth^-icdl. 



414 l>tI^N3. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 
San*, sair may I repine ; 

For Donald was the brawest lad, 
And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then, 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waefu' fate what need I tell? — 
Right to the wrang did ^deld : 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon CuUoden's field. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 

Nae woman in the warld wide 
Sae wretched now as me. 



MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE. 

TUNE— *' LORD BBEADALBANE'S MARCH." 

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle, ^ 

And merry liae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
O meiTy hae I been cloutin- a kettle, 

And kissiu' my Katie when a' was done. 
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
An' a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,' 

An' a' the lang night am as happy's a king. 

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave ; 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens, 

And blythe be the bird that sings on her grare. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie ; 

An' come to my arms, and kiss me again! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie ! 

An' blest be the day I did it again. 

A board with sharp steel prongs for dressing hemp. * Repalriag. 
8 Young girl. 



O MALL 1 'S MEEK, MALL V^ S SWEET. 415 
RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLE3. 

TUNK— -*'RATTL1N\ ROARIN' WILUE." 

O RATTLIN', roarin* Willie, 

O he held to the fair, 
An' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle. 

The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye'rc welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

sell your fiddle sae fine ; 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fidle, 

The warP would think I was mad; 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I hae had. 

As I cam by Grochallan, 

1 cannily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en'; 
Sitting at yon board enV 

And amang guid companie ; 
Rattlin', roaring Willie, 

Ye'er welcome hame to me ! 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 

It were more meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 

And 'twere mare fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 



416 BURNS. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling^ down her swan-white neck| 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



SAE FAR AWA. 

TUKE— "DALKEITH MAn)EN BRmaE.** 

O, SAD and heavy should I part, 

But for her sake sae far awa ; 
Unknowing what my way may thwart^ 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart. 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



O, STEER HER UP. 

TOTW— "0 BTKEB HER UP, AND HAUD HER GAUW.' 

O, steer' her up, and baud her gaun- 

Her mother's at the mill, jo ; 
And gin she winna take a man, 

E'n let her take her will, jo : 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 

» Trickling. 2 Stir. 



O, WHARE DID YE GET, ETC. 417 

O st^er her up, and be na blate, 

An' gin she take it ill, jo, 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
Then gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'U fin' anither will, jo. 



O, WHARE DID YE GET. 

TUNl— "BONMB DC:NT)EE." 

O, WHABE did ye get that hauver-meaP bannock t 

O silly blind body, dinna ye see? 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie. 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 

Aft has he doodled me up on his knee; 
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Thou's ay be dearer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed- thee in the tartan sae fine, 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



THE F^TE CHAJyiPETKE. 

TUNE— * ' KTLLIEC RAXKIE. ' ' 

O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law? 

Or will we send a sodger? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa- Major? 

1 Oatme«L ^ Clotht. 



418 BURNS. 

Come, will ye court a noble lord, 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man? 
For worth and honoiu* pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man? 
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 

Anither gies them clatter ; 
Anbank, * wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news 

The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busking bowers, 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 

Sir Politics to fetter 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Hk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew^, man : 
She summcn'd every social sprite, 

That sports by wood or water. 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 

Were bound to stakes like kye, man; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through the trees, 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkliug jewels glance, man! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood. 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett,* 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

> A place belonging to Mr. Cunningham, and which, after thf 
Scottish custom, bestows a name on the Laird. 

a Gate. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME, ETC, m 

When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, ^ man ! 
He circled round the magic ground, 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat^ his name, 

Foreswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

TUNE— "ay WAUKIN O.'* 

Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour ; 
The water rins o'er the heugh,' 
And I lang for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I'm eerie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleeping; 
I think on my bonnie lad, 
And I bleer my een with greetin. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 



ITHE BLUDE-RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 

TUNE— "to DAUNTON ME." 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The Simmer lilies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea; 
But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
* Adder-stone. ' Quit. • Crag. 



420 BURNS. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e'e- 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause lieart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

TUNK— '-IP THOU'LT play MR FA.1R PLAT.' 

The bonniest lad tliat e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
His loyal heart vras firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawltind lassie. 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, Honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, 
For freedom and my King to fight, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE, ETC. 4^ 

The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
And for your lawful King his crown; 

Bonnie Highland laddie I 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE. 

TUNB— "BOB AT THE BOWSTKR.'' 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa, 
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a* — 
And our gude-wiie has gotten a ca' 

That anger'd the silly guid-man, O. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 

And cover him under a mawn,* O. 

He sought them out, he sought them in, 
Wi', Deil hae her ! and, Deil hae him ! 
But the body was sae doited and blin^ 
He wist na where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morilj 
Till our guid-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 

And swears that they shall '^tan', O. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 

And cover him under a mawn, O, 



NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coTnincf o'er the border. 
And they'll gae biffi^^ Terreagie's towers, 

An' set them a' iu order. 

1 Basket. ^ stupifled and blind. « Build. 



BURNS. 

And they deolare Ten-eagle's fair, 
For their abode they choose it; 

There's no a heart in a' the land, 
But 's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather: 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief- 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow 1 



THE TAILOR. 

TUNE— "the tailor FELL THRO' THE B.^.D, THIMBLES AN' A." 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a', 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thmibles an' a', 

The blankets were thin, and the sheeta they were sma) 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill; 

The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 

She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gie me the gToat again, canny young man; 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 

The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 

The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weaiy wi' lying her lane ; 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 

There's some that are dowie,^ I trow wad be faii^ 

To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



THE TITHER MORN. 

The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my jo, 
Beside me, 'gain the gloaming. 

'- Woru x\itli grief. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES. 423 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, Yrhat reck, 

Did least expec' 
To see mv lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me: 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat, 
While in his grips he press'd me 

Deil tak' the war ! 

I, late and air, 
Hae wish'd since Jock departed; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad, 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wr dancing keen, 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I car'd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest, 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny: 

At Mrk and fair, 

I'se ay be there. 
And be as canty's ony. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAE8. 

TUNE— " KELLYBURN BRAES." 

There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonuie wi thyme), 

And he had a wife was the plague o' his days; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bomiie wi' thyme), 

He met wi' the Devil ; says, "How do you fen?" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



424 BURNS. 

**rve got a bad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint, 
(Hey, and the nie grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint;" 
And the thyme it is withered, and me is in prime. 

**It'8 neither your stot* nor your staig- I shall crave, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

But gie me your wdf e, man, for her I must have ;" 
And the thyme it is vdther'd, and rue is in prime. 

**0 welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi* thyme), 

"But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd;* 
And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in prime. 

The Devil has got the auld wife on his back, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And, like a poor pedler, he's carried his pack; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Syne bade her gae in, for a b — and a w — ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prim« 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud' bear, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bounie wi' thyme), 

Whae'or she gat hands on came near her nae mair; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prima. 

A reeklt^ wee Devil looks over the wa', 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

^*0, help, master, help, or she ruin us a';" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

He pitied the man that was tied to a wife; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

* Ox. 2 Two-year old horse. ^ Wild, * Smoking. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 42S 

The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then Satan has travelled again wi' his pack, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And to her auld husband he's carried her back ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime, 

"I hae been a Devil the feck o' my life, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 

TUNB— " DUNCAN DAVISON." 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin; 
There was a lad that follow'd her. 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was dreigh,^ and Meg was skeigK 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock. 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haily aith. 

That Meg should be a bride the morn; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,* 

And flung them a' out o'er the bum. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like King and Queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 

And aye be welcome back again. 

» Tedious. 3 Proud. « Gear. 



426 BURNS. 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

TUNE— "up WI' the ploughman." 

The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 
His mind is ever true, jo, 

His garters knit below his knee, 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

CHORUS. 

Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad, 
And hey, my merry ploughman ; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 
He's aften wat and weary ; 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 
And gae to bed, my Dearie I 
Up wi't a', &c. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his o'erlay;^ 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston, 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
Was th' ploughman laddie dancin% 
Up wi't a', &c. 

Bnaw-white stockins on his legs, 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bannet on his head, 
And O, but he was handsome. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

Commend me to the barn yard. 
And the corn-mou, man ; 

I never gat my coggie fou 
Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

* Cravat. 



WEARY KV yOl\ DUXCAN GRAY. 427 



THE CARLES OF DYSART. 

TONE— "HEY, CA' THR0\'* 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
And the kimmers* o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 
Hey, ca' thro\ ca' thro\ 

For we hae mickle ado; 
Hey, ca' thro*, ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 

"We hae tales to tell. 

And we hae sangs to sing; 
We hae pennies to spend, 

And we hae pints to bring. 

We'll live a' our days. 

And them that come behin*. 
Let them do the like. 
And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 



WEARY PA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY 

TUNB— "DUNCAN GRAY.'* 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — • 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't 1 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day, 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 

And a' for the girdin o't. 

Bonnie was the Lammas moon-* 

Ha, ha, the girdin o'tl 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 

* Gossips, 



428 BURNS. 

The girdin brak, the beast cam dowa, 
I tint my curch,' and baith my shoon; 
Ah! Dnneanj ye're an unco loon— 
Wae on the bad girdin o't ! 

Bat, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaitb|^ 

And clout the bad girdin o't, 



MY HOGGIE.» 

TUNB— "WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY HOGGTE DIE." 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie I 
My only beast, I had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie !* 
The lee-lang night we watched the fauld^ 

Me and my faithfu' doggie; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang th*^ braes sae scroggie \^ 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa* 

The blitter frae the boggle, 
The tod*' reply'd upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 
When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 

The morning it was foggie; 
An unco tyke' lap o'er the dyke, 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



WHERE HAS YE BEEN. 

TUNE- " KILLIECRANKIE." 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 

Whare hae ye been sae brankie,* O? 
O, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O? 

' Lost the covering for the head. ^ Damage, 

3 The hoggie, alias pet ewe, wds Margaret Brodie, of Coxton, In 
BaiiiTshire. The son^ was taken do-vvn by Burns from the sinking 
of an old woman in Uddesdale.— 6iic7ia?t. 

* Vain. ^ Bushy, « Fox, '' Dog. ® Gaudy, 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER, ETC. 45M 

An' ye had been whare I hae been, 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I hae seen, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,^ 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled,^ 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

TUNE—" COCK UP YOUB BEAVER." 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town, 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — • 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it f u' sprush, 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour— 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver I 



THE HERON BALLADS.* 

FIRST BALLAD. 

Whom will you send to London town, 

To Parliament and a' that? 
Or wha in a' the country round 

The best deserves to fa' that? 

1 Furrow. 2 Hawk. 

» This is the first of several ballads which Burns wrote to serve 
Patrick Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two elections, in which he was 
opposed, first by Gordon, of Balmaghie, and secondly by the Hoij. 
Mont^mery Stewart.— -4itow. Cunningham, 



430 BURNS. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 
Thro' Galloway and a' that, 
Where is the laird, or belted knight, 
That best deserves to fa' that? 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that? 
Wha ever wi' Kerronghtree met, 
And has a doubt of a' that ; 
For a' that, an' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that; 
The independent patriot. 
The honest man, an' a that. 

Tho* wit an' worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix, 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's a Heron yet for a' thatl 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk? 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that ! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' sold 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be. 
For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that 1 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blest that saw that. 



THE ELECTION. 431 

THE ELECTION. 

SECOND BALLAD. 

Py, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 

For there will be bickerin' there ; 
For Murray's light-horse are to muster, 

And O, how the heroes will swear ! 
An' there will be Murray commander, 

And Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 

An' there will be black-lippit Johnnie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
An' he gat na hell for his haddin', 

The Deil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's bu-kie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane, 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune. 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff, 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 

But, Lord, what's become o' the head? 
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damnation,— 

For the Devil the prey will despise. 

An' there will be Douglasses doughty, 

New christ'ning towns far and nearl 
Abjuring their democrat doings. 

By kissing the o' a peer ; 

An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous, 

Whose honour is proof to the storm;—* 
To save them from stark reprobation, 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we wdnna mention Redcastle, 

The body, e'en let him escape ! 
He'd venture the gallows for siller, 

An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
And where is om* King's lord lieutenant, 

Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return? 
The billie is gettin' his questions. 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 



432 BURNS. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead, wha's as gude as he's true ; 
An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 

Wha's more o' the black than the blue v 
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note, 
The Deil ane but honours them highly, — 

The Deil ane will give them his vote ! 

An' there will be wealthy young Richard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by the neck; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing. 

His merit had won him respec' : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 

Though nabobs, yet men of the first, 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers, 

An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whose honour was ever his law ; 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a\ 

An' can we forget the auld major, 

Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys ; 
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other, 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's gude knight. 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the Mddesdale's border, 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walio, 

That griens^ for the fishes an' loaves; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 

Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughtoik, 
An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring! 

It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 
In Sodom 'twould make hin^ a King; 

1 Longs. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SQNG. 433 

An' hey for the sanctified Murray, 
Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd; 

He founder'd his horse among harlots, 
But gied the auld ualg to the Lord, 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

THIRD BALLAD. 

Wha will buy my troggin,* 

Pine election ware : 
Broken trade o' Broughtoa, 
A* in high repair? 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There^s a noble Earl's 
Fame and high renown, 

Per an auld sang — 
It's thought the gudes were stoww 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here^s the worth o* Brcughton 

In a needle's e'e ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald— 

Sae was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining, 

O' Cardoness' head; 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale o' lead. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

* ^Vxv^'h is the merchaiiiclise of a traTelliug hawlcatv 



434 BURIES. 



Here's a little wadset, 
Buittle's scrap o' truth, 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, <fea. 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr; 

The crest, an auld crab-apple 
Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c* 

Here is Satan^s picture, 
Like a bizzard gled, ^ 

Pouncing poor Redcastle 
Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &0. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 
CoUieston can boast; 

By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, &a 

Here is Murray's fragments 
O' the ten commands; 

Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &c* 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's turuin' chapman,— 

He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, Ac 



YE SONS OF OLD KILLEB. 

TUNE—" SHAWNBOY." 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Tour tiirif ty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honoured station. 

* The aUusion is to Di^. Muirtiead, Minister of Urr. ' Hawk 



YE J A CO BITES B Y NAME. 43S 

Pre little to say, but only co pray, 

As praying's the ton of your fashion; 
A prayer from the Muse 3'ou may well excuse, 

'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye powers who preside o^er the wind and the tide, 

"Wlio marked each element's border ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 

Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contentiOD '; 

Or withered envy ne'er enter; * 

May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 

And brotherly love be the centre I 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME.* 

TUNB--"YE JACOBITES BY NAME." 

Tb Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 
Your fautes I will proclaim, 
Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the lawl 
What is right and what is wrang by the law? 
What is right and what is wrang? 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife? 
To whet th' assassin's knife, 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

> Burns founded this son^ on some old verses^ in which it was intl* 
mated that the extinction of the House of Stuart was sought for by 
other weapons than the sword. It cannot be denied that if the 
House of Hanover had the affection of the people and the la^v of the 
land on their side, the exiled princes had the best poetry. This may 
be accounted for. The romantic adventures and daring exploits 
and deep suSei-ings of Prince Charles enUsted sympathy on his side* 
and the minstrels, regarding his fate and that of his brave com- 
panions as furnishing matter for poetry only, sung with a pathos 
»iidfo:ce which will likely be long remembered.— -A, C. 



im BURNS. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the sttto; 
Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
Then let vour schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



SONG-^AH, CHL0RI8. 

TUNE—** MAJOR GRAHAM.*^ 

Ah, Chloris, since it ma na be, 
That thou of love wilt hear; 

If from the lover thou maun flec^ 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say I'll wish thee well: 

Tlio' a' my daily care thou art, 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struojgle in my hearty 
And say it is esteem. 



EXTEMPORE ANSWER TO AN INVITATION. 

The King's most humble servant I, 

Can scarcely spare a minute • 
But ril be wi' ye by an' bye ; 

Or else the DeiPs be in it. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 

That heals the woimds o' care an' dool; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out. 



THE COLLIER LADDIE. 437 



KATHARINE JAFFRAY. 

There liv'd a lass in yonder dale. 

And down in yonder glen, O, 
And Katharine Jaffray was her name, 

Weel known to many men, O. 

Out came the lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the south countrie, O, 

AD for to court this pretty maid. 
Her bridegroom for to be, O. 

He's tell'd her father and mother baith, 

As I hear sin dry say, O, 
But he has na tell'd the lass hersel, 

Till on her wedding day, O. 

Then cam the Laird o' Lochinton, 
Out frae the English border, 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
All mounted in good order. 



THE COLLIER LADDIE. 

O WHARE live ye, my bonnie lass, 
And tell me how they ca' ye? 

My name she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow my Collier laddie. 

see ye not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sae brawlie \ 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thiuQ« 
Gin yell leave yoiu- Collier laddie. 

And ye shall gang in rich attire, 

Weel buskit up fu' gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie. 

TMo' ye had a' the sun shines on, 
And the earth conceals sae lowly; 

1 would turn my back on you and it a\ 
And embrace my Collier laddie. 



438 BUKiVS, 

1 cap win my five pennies in a day, 
And spend it at night fu' bra w lie; 

I can mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier laddie. 

Luve for liive is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me 5 

And the warld before me to win my bread. 
And fare fa' ray Collier laddie. 



WHEN I THINK ON THOSE HAPPY DAYS. 

' When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie; 
And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary 1 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 



EPPIE M^NAB. 



SAW ye my dearie; my Eppie M*Nab? 
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
She's down in the yard, slie's kissin' the laird : 
Bhe winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab I 
Whatever thou hast done, be it late, be it soon 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M^Nab? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M*Nai>9 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot, 
And forever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M*Nab! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab 1 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair. 
Tliou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. 



AN' 0/ MY EPPIE, 439 



TO CHLORIS.* 

Behold, my love, how green the groT6% 

The primrose banks how fair; 
The balmy gales awake the flow'rs, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to Kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed 

Blythe in the birken shaw. 
The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours, 

Beneath the milk white thorn? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
•Rie courtier tells a finer tale, 

But is his heart as true? 
These wild wood flow'rs I've pu'd to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love. 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



AN' O! MY EPPIB. 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie I 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
By love, and by beauty, 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair I 

> On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris, she suggested an 
klea which I, on my return from my visit, wrought into the following: 
■ong. How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of thit 
pastoral ?— R. B., xVm-., 1794. 



44fi» BURNS. 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie I 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
A' pleasure exile me, 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair 1 



GUDE'EN TO YOU, KIMMEa 

Gude'en to you, Kiramer, 

And how d'ye do? 
Hiccup, quo' Kimmer, 
The better that I'm fou. 
We're a' noddin, nid, ni(% noddin, 
We're a' noddin at our hoii-^e at hamii 

Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Suppin hen broo;' 
Deil tak Kate 

An' she be na noddin too! 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints mair. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How mony bairns hae ye? 

Quo' Kimmer, I hae five. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

Are they a' Johnny's? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
TwM o' them were gotten 

When Johnny was awa. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo; 
Lads like lasses weel, 

And lasses lads too. 
We're a' noddin, <fcc 

1 Broth 



O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN- MARRIED. 4 
O WAT YE WHA THAT LO*EB ME. 

TUNK—" MORAG." 

^ WAT ye wha that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keeping? 

sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' smnmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping: 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 
My lassie, ever dearer; 

O that's the queen o' woman-kind. 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

K thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming; 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming^ 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming: 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast heard her talking, 
And thy attention's plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 
But her, by thee is slighted. 
And thou art all delighted: 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one, — 
V/hen frae her tliou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 

But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted; 
O that's the lassie, &c. 



O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN l^IARRIED. 

O THAT I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
An' they cry crowdie^ ever mair. 
Ance crow die, twice crowdie, 

Three times crowdie in a day; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal awaj, 

> Oatmeal, water, and butter. 



442 BURNS, 



Waefu' want and hunger fley* me, 
Glowerin by the hallo n en' ; 

Sair I fechf^ them at the door, 
But ay I'm eerie they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, &c. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Gude news I have to tell. 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 
The wean wants a cradle, 

And the cradle wants a cod,^ 
An' I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she, 

Do what you can, 
I'll nae gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 
The wean, &c. 

I hae as gude a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane; 

And waly fa' the ley-crap. 
For I maun till't again. 
The wean, &c. 



SCROGGAM. 



There was a wife wonn'd in Coekpen^ 

Scroggam ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, iay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The p. lest o' the parish fell in anither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

* Scare. 2 Fought. s Pillow. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE, ETC. 443 

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, niffum. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVB.* 

Frae the friends and land I love. 

Driven by Fortune's felly ^ spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care ; 
When remembrance wracks the mind, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka blooming shore. 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revenge, wi' laureled head 

Bring our banished hame again ; 
And ilk loyal, bonnie lad 

Cross the sea^ and win his ain. 



THE TEARS I SHED.' 

The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I mourn not for an absent swain, 
For thought may past delights recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, 

Their toils are pass'd, their sorrows o'er, 
And those they lov'd their steps shall tread, 

And death shall join to part no more. 

> Bums, in his notes on the 'Musical Museum," says of this song. 
*I added the last four lines by way of giving a turn to the theme oi 
the poem, such as it is." It has been suggested by his editors, that 
Bums mended his song as the Highlander mended his gun, by giv- 
ing to it a new stock, a new lock, and a new barrel. 

^ Relentless. 

• The first four lines of the last stanza were added by Bums; the 
iong being the composition of Miss Cranstoun, aftervvards the wif» 
of 0ugald Stewart. 



444 BURNS. 

Tho' boundless oceans roll'd between, 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads each scene, 

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
- E'en when by Death's cold hand removed, 

We moiu'n the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that even in death he lov'd. 

Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter are the tears 

Of her who slighted love bewails; 
No hope her dreary prospect cheers. 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, of withered joy: 
The prop, she iean'd on, pierc d her side ; 

The flame, she fed, burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew, 

The hours once ting'd in transport's dye; 
The sad reverse soon starts to view, 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due : 
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor, 

To steal a heart, and break it too 1 

No cold approach, no alter'd mien, 

Just what would make suspicion start; 
No pause the dire extremes between. 

He made me blest — and broke my heart I 
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn, 

Neglected, and neglecting all. 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn. 

The tears I shed must ever fall, 



THE TWA HERDS 4l6 



THE TWA HERDS.' 

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor. 

But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil war.— Powi* 

O a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed in pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae Iphe fox, 

Or worrying tykes ?'^ 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocka,* 

About the dykes? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

O, dool to tell! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how New-light herds will whistle^ 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 

Sin' I ha'e min'. 

O, Sirs I whae'er wad hae expeckit, 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste ; 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank, — 

0' sic a feast ! 

> Th© Twa " Herds" were the minister of Riccartoii, and the 
Msistant-minister of Kilmarnock, whose controversial afiimosity 
burst out in blows during: a walk home after a " Sacrament" sermoo. 
Bums recorded the feat of arms in a "burlesque lanaentation," 
which, as he informs us, with a certain description of the clergy, aa 
well as laity, met with a roar of applause. Burns gave a copy to a 
friend, and professed ignorance of the writer. 

* Dogs. > Stray sheep and old ewes. 



146 BURIyTS. 

The thiimmart,' wil'-cat, brock, and tod,* 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelPd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 



What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and dait^ 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail. 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or halo, 

At the first sight. 



He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club. 

And New-light herds, could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin; 
Could shake them owre the burning dub,* 

Or heave them in. 



Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, 

Sic famous twa should disagreet. 

An' names, like * ^ villain, " * ' hypocrite,^ 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While New-light herds wi' laughin' spitt^ 

Say ** neither's lienP 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul,* 

But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, het and cauld^ 
Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset ; 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed seu 

I winna name ; 
I hope frae Heaven to see them yet 
In fiery flame. 



• FK^a-cat « Badger aud fox. « Pond. ♦ Shallow. 



THE TWA HERDS. 44t 

Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill nas wrought us meikle wae, 
A.nd that curs'd rascal ca'd M^Quhae, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow lang has hatched mischief, 
We thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
k. chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef;' 

I meikle dread him. 

Aind monie a ane that I could tell, 
VV'ha fain wad openly rebel, 
Porbye turn-coats amang oursel, 

There's Smith for ane, 
t doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,* 

And that ye'll fin\ 

O ! a' ye flocks, ower a' ye hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come join your coimsels and your skills, 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themsels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banish'd owre the seas to France; 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
M^Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M^Quhae's pathetic manly sense. 

And guid M*Math, 
Wi* Smith, wha thro* the heart can glance, 

May a' pack aff. 

Giv« US a severe beAtinic ^ Unfit for a p«ii. 



448 BURNS, 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.* 

Thou, wha in the Heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thyseP, 

Sends ane to Heaven, and ten to Hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done efore thee. 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burning an' a shining light, 
To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation? 
I, wha deserve such just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into Hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Where damned Devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example 

To a' thy flock. 

O L — d, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, 

- Sir Walter Scott regarded Holy Willie's Prayer as "a piece of 
satire more exquisitely severe than any which Bums afterwards 
wrote. " The Poet assures us that it alarmed " the Kirk-Session so 
much, that they had several meetings to look over their spiritual 
artillery." The hero of the poem v. as a farmer, William Fisher, 
near Mauchline, said to be very phansaic «,nd hypocritical; one of 
that class of professors whom Sterue described as making every 
stride look hke a check on their desires. Fisher was an elder in the 
kirk, and had offended Burns by his persecution of Mr. Hamilton, 
who thoughtlessly set a beggar to work in his garden on a Sunday 
morning, and was excommunicated m. consequence. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 449 

And singin there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great an' sma' : 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, — 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg — 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! may it ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg. 

Again upon her. 

Efesides I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else thou kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

May be thou lets this fleshly thorn 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 

Lest he owre high and proud should tum^ 

'Cause he's sae gifted; 
K sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place. 

For here thou hast a chosen race; 

But G — d confound their stubborn fact, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 

An' public shame. 

L— d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carter, 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' great an' sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people's hearti 

He steals awa'. 



450 BURNS. 

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,* 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes. 

L— d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L— d, make it bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
L— d, weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For then- misdeeds. 

O L — d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, 

My very heart and saul are quakin, 

To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, 

An' swat wi' dread, 
While he wi' hingin lips gaed snakin, 

And hid his head. 

L — d, in the day of vengeance try him: 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r : 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L — d, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen.' 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Hebe Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

» Riot. 
* Against some passages it has been objected that the/ breathe % 
spirit of irreligion. But if we consider the ignorance ana fanatioism 
or the lower class of people when these poems were written, a fanat- 
icism of that pernicious sort which sets faith in opposition to 
good works, the fallacy and danger of which a mind so enlightened 
as our poet's could not but perceive, we shall not look upon l]di 
lig:hter Muse as the enemv of religion, though she has sometimes 
been a httle unguarded in her ridicule of hypocrisy.— if. Mackenwi^ 
—(The '* Lounger," No. 97.) 



ON SCARING SOME WA TER FOWL. 451 

Stop I there he is, as sure's a gun, 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the gnin. 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye ; 
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee, 

Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, 

Look something to your credit; 
A coof like him wad stain your name, 

If it were kent ye did it. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL IN LOCa 
TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG TKB HILLb 
OF OCHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Conmion friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace ; 
Man, your proud, usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's prid^ 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong Necessity compels. 



452 BURNS. 

But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wandering swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways, 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



LINES WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

Grant me, ind«lgent Heav'n, that I may live, 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



EPIGRAM. 



One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well, 
In respect for the love and affection he'd shown her, 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the powder 

But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion, 
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, 
Not to shoY7 her respect, but — to save the expense. 



A TOAST, ETC, 453 



ANOTHER/ 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, his Grace.' 

There's naething here but Highland pride, 
And Highland scab and hunger ; 

If Providence has sent me here, 
'Twas surely in an anger. 



A TOAST.' 



Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you a Toast. — 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost : 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that ^e found; 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing I 
And here's the gi'and fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution. 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny d — 'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first triall 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO J. RANKINE. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a', 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither. 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I hae been in for't ance or twice. 
And winna say owre far for thrice, 

* Written at Inverary, ^ The Duke of Argyll. 

• Given on occasion of the celebration of the naval victory, April It, 
1782. 



454 BURN3, 

Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 

But now a rumom-'s like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OP 
LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair? 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 



No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME.^ 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a f ar-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So ended in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME. 



ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED AVITH HIS RBSBKIV 

MENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand. 

For thou hast none to give. 

1 These were some of the satirical fruits of the Heron contest. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS E FPU SI ON. 455 

VERSES TO J. RANKINE. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was drivin' to the tither warP 
A mixtie-maxtie^ motley squad, 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles^ in a halter ; 
Asham'd himsel to see the v^etches. 

He mutters, glowrin' at the b s, 

** By G — I'll not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the spiritual core present them, 
Without, at least, ae honest man. 
To grace this d — d infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
'' L— G— !" quoth he, ^' I have it now. 
There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION, ON BEING AP 
POINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, hon! the day! 
That clartie^ barm should stain my laurels : 

But — what'll ye say? 
These movin' things, ca'd wives and weans, 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes I 



!0N HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOB 
IN THE REV. DR. B 'S VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny : 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 

* Confusedly mixed. ' Staggers. * Dirty. 



456 BURNS. 



POVERTY. 



In politics if thou wouldst mix, 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

Bear this in mind, — be deaf and blind, 
Let great folks hear and see. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, 
FIFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans. 

For clever deils he'll mak them 1 



LINES WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. 
KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARAC- 
TER OF YARICO. 

Dumfries Theatre, 1794. 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had flowed. 



I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving war to Venus. 

The deities that I adore 

Are social Peace and plenty, 

Tm better pleased to make one more, 
Than be the death of twenty. 



/' 



LINES, ETC, 457 

LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S 
ARMS TAVERN, DU]yiFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing; 
Wliat are your landlords' rent-rolls? taxing ledgers: 
What premiers, what? even Monarch's mighty gangers: 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men? 
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ? 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE 
GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The greybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 

But Folly has raptures to give. 



LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTL^RE OF THE 
CELEBRATED mSS BLTRNS. 

Cease ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess: 

True it is, she had one failing. 
Had a woman ever less? 



EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION 
OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. 

O THOU, whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose had turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan? — proceed no further, 
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murder. 



EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITS, 
SO WISE AS SOLOMON. 

Bless the Redeemer. O Cardoness, 

With c^rateful lifted eyes, 
Who said that not the soul alone, 

But body, too, must rise : 



^ 



458 BURNS, 



For had He said, ** The soul alon^ 
From death I will deliver," 

Alas! alas! O Cardoness, 
Then thou hadst slept for ever' 



EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNN^,^ 

Hie jacet wee Johnny. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader know 
That death has murder'd Joiinuy^ 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RUTJNG ELDER 

Here sowter^ Hood in Death dues sle^jp ; 

To h — 1, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll hand it weel thegither. 



EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er htj be, 
May I be sav'd, or d — 'd ! 

' John Wilson, who printed an edition of Burns' Poem». 
2 Shoemaker, 



EPITAPHS. 4:9 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHER. 

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains 
Draw near with pioas rev'reuce and attend 1 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend; 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride; 
The friend of man, to vico alone a foe: 

'^For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 



EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, 
MAUCHIJNE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon ; 

What was his religion? 

Wha e'er desires to ken, 

To some other warP 

Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane I 

Strong ale was ablution, 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mori; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 
And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBY,^ WRITER, US" 
DUMFRIES. 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man, 
Cheat him, Devil, if you can. 

- "Went to the churchyard where Burns is buried. A bookseller 
accompanied us. Went on to visit the grave. 'There,' said the 
bookseller to us, pointing to a pompous monument a few yards off, 
'there lies Mr. John Bushby, a remarkably clever man; he was an 
attorney, and hardly ever iosi a cause he undertook. Burns mad« 
many r. ];-:rnDOon upon him, and there they rest, as yru see. '"— 
Memoiia 0/ WordifWorthj i. S14. 



GLOSSARY, 



The ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound 
of the English diphthong oo, is commonly spelled ou. The 
French w, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, 
is marked oo, or id. The a in genuine Scottish words, except 
when forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a 
single consonant, sounds generally like the broad English a in 
waU. The Scottish diphthong oe, always, and ea. verj* often, 
Bound like the French e masculine. The Scottish diphthong 
ey, Bounds like the Latin ei. 



A», All 

Aback, away, aloof 

Abeigh, at a shy distance 

Aboon, above, up 

Abread, abroad, in sight 

Abreed, in breadth 

Addle, putrid water, <fec. 

Ae^ one 

An, off; Aff loof, unpremedi- 
tated 

Afore, before 

Aft, oft 

Aften, often 

Affley, off the right line; wrong 

Aiblins, perhaps 

Ain, own 

Alrle - penny, Airles, earnest 
money 

Aim, iron 

Aith, an oath 

Aits, oats 

Aiver, an old horse 

Aizle, a hot cinder 

Alake, alas 

Alane, alone 

Akwart, awkward 

Amaist, almost 

Amang, among 

An', and; if 

Ance, once 

Ane, one; and 

Anent, over against 

Anither, another 

Ase, ashes 

Asklent, asquint; aslant 

Asteer, abroad; stirring 

Athart, athwart 



Aught, possession; as, In a' my 
aught, in all my possession 

Auld lang syne, olden time, 
days of other years 

Auld, old 

Auldfarran, or auld f arrant; sa- 
gacious, cunning, prudent 

Ava, at all 

Awa', away 

Awfu', awful 

Awn, the beard of barley, oats, 
&c. 

Awnie, bearded 

Ayont, beyond 

BA', Ball 

Backets, ash boards 

Backlins, coming; coming back, 

returning 
Back, returning 
Bad, did bid 
Baide, endured, did stay 
Baggie, the belly 
Bainie,ha\ing lai'ge bones, stout 
Bairn, a child 
Baimtime, a family of children, 

a brood 
Baith, both 
Ban, to swear 
Bane, bone 

Bang, to beat; to strive 
Barme, diminutive of bard 
Barefit, barefooted 
Barmie, of, or like barm 
Batch, a crew, a gang 
Batts, bots 
Baudrons, a cat 



46: 



GLOSSARY, 



Bauld, bold 
Bawk, bank 
Baws'nt, having a white stripe 

down the face 
Be, to let be; to give over; to 

cease 
Bear, barley 

Beastie, diminutive of beast 
Beet, to add fuel to fire 
Beld, bald 
Belyve, by and by 
Ben, inlo the spence or parlour; 

a spenee 
Benlomond, a noted mountain 

in Dumbartonshire 
Bethankit, grace after meat 
Beuk, a book 
Bicker, a kind of wooden dish; 

a short race 
Bie, or Bield, shelter 
Bien, wealthy, plentiful 
Big, to build 
Biggin, building; a house 
Biggit, built 
Bill, a bull 

Billie, a brother; a young fel- 
low 
Bing, a heap of grain, pota- 
toes, &c. 
Birk, birch 
Birkcn-shaw, Birchen - wood - 

6hav\^, a siijali wood 
Birkie, a clever feilov/ 
Birring, 1 he noise of partridges, 

<fec., vv'hea they spring 
Bit, crisis, nick of time 
Bizz, a bu.stle, to buzz 
Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf; a 

term of contempt 
Blastit, blasted 
Blate, bashful, sheepish 
Blather, bladder 
Bladd, a fiat piece of au}-thing; 

to slap 
Blaw, to blow, to boast 
Bleerit, bleared, sore with 

rheum 
Bleert and blin', bleared and 

blind 
Eleezing, blazing 
Blelium, an idle^'talking fellow 
Blether, to talk idly; nonsense 
Bleth'rin, talking idly 
Blink, a little while ;*^ a smiling 
look; to look kindly; to shine 
by fits 
Blinker, a term of contempt 



Blinkin, smirking 
Blue-govvn, one of those beg- 
gars who get annually, on the 
King's birtn-day, a blue cloak 
or gown, with a badge 
Bluid, blood 
Bluntie, a sniveller, a stupid 

person 
Blype, a shred, a large piece 
Bock, to vomit, to gush inter- 
mittently 
Bocked, gushed, vomited 
Bodle, a small gold coin 
Bogles, spirits, nobgoblins 
Bonnie or bonny, handsome, 

beautiful 
Bonnock, a kind of thick cake 
of bread, a small jannock, or 
loaf made of oatmeal 
Boord, a board 

Boortrce, the shrub elder; plant- 
ed much of old in hedges of 
barn-yards, &c. 
Boost, behaved, must needs 
Bore, a hole in the wall 
Botch, an angi-y tumour 
Bousing, drinking 
Bow-kail, cabbage 
Bo^\'t,, bended, crooked 
Brackens, fern 
Brae, a declivity; a precipice; 

the slope of a hill 
Braid, broad 

Braindg't, reeled forward 
Braik, a kind of harrow 
Braindge, to run rashly forward 
Brak, broke, made insolvent 
Branks, a kind of wooden curb 

for horses 
Brash, a sudden illness 
Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c. 
Brattle, a short race; hurry; 

fury 
Braw, fine, handsome 
Brawly, or brawlie, very well; 

finely; heartily 
Braxie, a morbid sheep 
Breastie, diminutive of breast 
Breastit, did spring up or for- 
ward 
Breckan, fern 

Breef, an invulnerable or irre- 
sistible spell 
Breeks, breeches 
Brent, smooth 
Brewin^, brewing 
Brie, Juice, liquia 



OLOSSA/s^V. 



m\\ 



Brig, a bridge 

Brisket, the breast, the bosom 

Brither, a brother 

Brock, a badger 

Brogue, a hum; a trick 

Broo, broth ; a trick 

Broose, broth; a race at country 
weddings, who shall first 
reach tiie bridegroom's house 
on returning from church 

Browster-wives, ale-house wives 

Brugh, a burgh 

Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion 

Brunstane, brimstone 

Brunt, did burn, burnt 

Brust, to burst; burst 

Buchan-bullers, the boiling of 
the sea among the rocks of 
Buchan 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of Vir- 
ginia 

Bught, a pen 

Bughtin-time, the time of col- 
lecting the sheep in the pens 
to be milked 

Buirdly, stout made; broad 
made 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle 
that flies in the summer even- 
ings 

Bumming, humming as bees 

Bummle, to blunder 

Bummler, a blunderer 

Bunker, a window-seat 

Burdies, diminutive of birds 

Bure, did bear 

Bum, water, a rivulet 

Bumewin, i ^., burn the wind, 
a blacksmith 

Burnie, diminutive of bum 

Buskie, bushy 

Buskit, dressed 

Busks, dresses 

Bussle, a bustle; to bustle 

Buss, shelter 

But, bot, with; without 

But an' ben, the country kitch- 
en and parlour 

By himsel, lunatic, distracted 

Byke, a bee-hive 

Byre, a cow-stable; a sheep-pen 



CA', to call, to name; to drive 
Ca't, or ca'd, called, driven; 

calved 
Cadger, a carrier 



Cadie, or Caddie, a person; a 

young fellow 
Ca:8:, cliall: 
Caird, a tinker 
Cairn, a loose heap of stones 
Calf-ward, a small enclosure 

for calves 
Call an, a boy 

Caller, fresh; sound; refreshing 
Canie, or cannie, gentle, mild; 

dexterous 
Cannilie, dexterously; gently 
Cantie, or canty, cheerful, 

merry 
Cantraip, a charm, a spell j 
Cape-stane, cope-stone; key-j 

stone 
Careerin, cheerfully 
Carl, an old man 
Carlin, an old stout woman 
Cartes, cards 
Caudron, a cauldron 
Caulk and keel, chalk and red 

clay 
Cauld, cold 

Caup, a wooden-drinking vessel 
Cesses, taxes 

Chanter, a part of a ba^ipe 
Chap, a person, a fellow ; a 

blow 
Chaup, a stroke, a blow 
Cheekit, checked 
Cheep, a chirp; to chirp 
Chiel, or cheel, a j^oung fellow 
Chimia, or ehimlie, a fire-grate, 

a Hre-ijlace 
Chimla-lug, the fireside 
Chittering, shivering,trembling 
Chockin, choking 
Chow, to chew: Cheek for 

chow, side by side 
Chuffie, fat-faced 
Clachan, a small village about 

a church; a hamlet 
Claise, or claes, clothes 
Claith, cloth 
Claithing, clothing 
Claivers, nonsense; not speak- 
ing sense 
Clapj clapper of a mill 
Clarkit, wrote 
Clash, an idle tale, the story of 

the day 
Clatter, to tell idle stories; an 

idle story 
Claught, snatched at, laid hold 

of 



464 



GLOSSARY. 



Claut, to clean; to scrape 

Clauted, scraped 

Clavers, idle stories 

Claw, to scratch 

Cleed, to clothe 

Cleeds, clothes 

Cleekit, having caught 

Clinkin, jerking; clinking 

Clinkumbell, he who rings the 
church-bell 

Clips, shears 

Clishmaclaver, idle conversa- 
tion 

Clock, to hatch; a beetle 

Clockin, hatching 

Cloot, the hoof of a cow, sheep, 
&c. 

Clootie, an old name for the 
Devil 

Clour, a bump or swelling after 
a blow 

Cluds, clouds 

Coaxin, wheedling 

Coble, a lishiog boat 

Cockernony, a lock of hair tied 
upon a girl's head; a cap 

Coft, bought 

Cog, a wooden dish 

Co^gie, diminutive of cog 

Coila, from K,yle, a district of 
Ayrshire; so' called, saith tra- 
dition, from Coil, or Coilus, 
a Pictish monarch 

Collie, a general and some- 
times a particular name for 
country curs 

Collieshangie, quarrelling, an 
uproar 

Commaun, command 

Cood, the cud 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cookit, appeai*ed and disap- 
peared by fits 

Coost, did cast 

Coot, the ancle or foot 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish: 
also, those fowls whose legs 
are clad with feathers are said 
to be cootie 

Corbies, a species of the crow 

Core, corps; party; clan 

Com't, fed with oats 

Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot- 
house, or cottager 

Couthie, kind, loving 

Cove, a cave 

Cowe, to terrify: to keep under, 



to lop; fright; a branch ol 
furze, broom, &c. 

Cowp, to barter; to tumblt 
over ; a gang 

Cowpit, tumbled 

Cowrin, cowering 

Cowt, a colt 

Cozie, snug 

Cozily, snugly 

Cra bbit, crabbed, fretful 

Crack, conversation; to con- 
verse 

Crackin, conversing 

Craft, or croft, a field near a 
house (in old husbandry) 

Craiks, cries or calls incessant* 
ly; a bird 

Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, 
rhymes, doggrel verses 

Crank, the noise of an un- 
greased wheel 

Crankous, fretful, captious 

Cranreuch, the hoar frost 

Crap, a crop; to crop 

Craw, I crow of a cock; a rook 

Creel, a basket; to have one's 
wits in a creel, to be crazed; 
to be fascinated 

Creepie-stool, the same a& 
cutty-stool 

Creeshie, greasy 

Crood, or croud, to coo as a 
dove 

Croon, a hollow and continued 
moan; to make a noise like 
the continued roar of a bull; 
to hum a tune 

Crooning, humming 

Crouchie, crook-backed 

Crouse, cheerful; courageous 

Crousely, cheerfully, courage- 
ously 

Crow^e, a composition of oat- 
meal and boiled water; some- 
times from the broth of beef, 
mutton, &c. 

Crowdie-time, breakfast time 

Crowlin, crawling 

Crummock, a cow with crooked 
horns 

Crump, hard and brittle; spo- 
ken^ of bread 

Crunt, a blow on the head with 
a cudgel 

Cuif , a blockhead, a ninny 

Cummock, a short stafi with s 
crooked head 



GLOSSARY. 



465 



Curchle, » ioartt>^ 

Cui'ler, a i>i&yei at a ^ame on 
the ice, piactiscd in Scot- 
land, called curling 

Curlie, curled, who3e hair tUls 
naturally in ringlets 

Curling, a well known gam^ on 
the ice 

Curmurring, murmuring; a 
slight rumbling noise 

Curpin, the crupper 

Cushat, the dove, or wood- 
pigeon 

Cutty, short; a spoon broken in 
the middle 

Cutty-stooJ, the stool of repent- 
ance 



DADDIE, a father 
Daffin, merriment; foolishness 
Daft, merry, giddy; foolish 
Daimen, rare, now and then; 

daimen-icker, an ear of com 

now and then 
Dainty, pleasant, good humour- 
ed, agreeable 
Daise, daez, to stupify 
Dales, plains, valleys 
Darklins, darkling 
Daud, to thrash, to abuse 
Daur, to dare 
Daurt, dared 

Daurg, or daurk, a day's labour 
Davoc, David 
Dawd, a large piece 
Dawtit, or da'svtet, fondled, 

caressed 
Dearies, diminutive of dears 
Dearthfu', dear 
Deave, to deafen 
Deil-ma care! no matter! for all 

that! 
Deleerit, delirious 
Descrive, to describe 
Dight, to wipe; to clean com 

from chaif 
Dight, cleaned from chaff 
Ding, to worst, to push 
Dink, neat, tidy, trim 
Dinna, do not 
Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke 

or pain 
Dizen, or dizz'n, a dozen 
Doited, stupified, hebetated 
Dolt, stupified, crazed 
Donsie, unlucky 



Dool, sorrow; to sln^ dool, to 

lament, to mourn 
Does, doves 
Dorty, saucy, nice 
Douce, or douse, sober, wis*, 

prudent 
Doacely, soberly, prudently 
Dought, was or were able 
Doup, backside 
Doup-skelper, one that ot'ikei 

the tail 
Dour and din, sullen and salloi* 
Doure, stout, durable; sullen, 

stubborn 
Dow, am or are able, can 
Dowff, pithless, wanting forc^ 
Dowie, worn with grief,iatigua 

(fee, half asleep 
Downa, am or are not able, can 

not 
Doylt, stupid 

Dozent, stupified, impotent 
Drap, a drop; to drop 
Draigle, to soil by trailing, ta 

draggle among wet, (fee. 
Drapping, dropping 
Draunting, draAvllng; of a slow 

enunciation 
Dreep, to oose, to drop 
Dreigh, tedious, long about it 
Dribble, drizzling; slaver 
Drift, a drove 
Droddum, the breech 
Drone, part of a bagpipe 
Droop-rumpl't, that droops a1 

the crupper 
Droukit, wet 
Drounting, drawling 
Drouth, thirst, drought 
Drucken, drunken 
Drumly, muddy 
Drummock, meal and watei 

mixed in a raw state 
Drunt, pet, sour humour 
Dub, a small pond 
Duds, rags, clothes 
Duddie, ragged 
Dung, worsted; pushed, driven 
Dunted, beaten, boxed 
Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 
Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &c. 

E'E, the eye 

Een, the eyes 

E'enin^, evening 

Eerie, frighted, dreading spirit* 

Eild, old age 



466 



GLOSSARY. 



Elbuck, the elbow 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 
Eller, an elder, or church officer 
En', end 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh 
Eneugh, enough 
Especial, especially 
Ettle, to try, to attempt 
Eydent, diligent 



FA', fall; lot; to fall 

Fa's, does fall; water-falls 

Faddom't, fathomed 

Fae, a foe 

Faem, foam 

Faiket, unknown 

Fairin, a fairing; a present 

Fallow, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake of oaten bread, &c. 

Fash, trouble, care; to trouble, 
to care for 

Fasht, troubled 

Fasteren-e'en, Fasten's Even 

Fauld, a fold; to fold 

Faulding, folding 

Faut, fault 

Faute, want, lack 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 

Feal, a field; smooth 

Fearfu', frightful 

Feart, frighted 

Feat, neat, spruce 

Fecht, to fi^ht 

Fechtin, fighting 

Feck, many, plenty 

Fecket, an under waistcoat 
with sleeves 

Feckfu', large, brawny, stout 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly 

Feckly, weakly 

Feg, a fig 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Feirrie, stout, vigorous, healthy 

Fell, keen, biting; the flesh im- 
mediately under the skin; a 
field pretty level, on the side 
or top of a hill 

Fen, successfal struggle; fight 

Fend, to live comfortably 

Ferlie, or ferley, to wonder; a 
wonder; a term of contempt 

Fetch, to pull by fits 

Fetch 'd, pulled intermittently 

Fidge, to fidget 

Fiel, soft, smooth 



Fient, fiend, a petty oath 
Fier, sound, healthy; a brother^ 

a friend 
Fissle, to make a rustling noise; 

to fidget; a bustle 
Fit, a foot 
Fittie-lan', the nearer horse of 

the hindmost pair In the 

plough 
Fizz, to make a hissing noise, 

like fermentation 
Flainen, flannel 
Fleech, to supplicate in a flat. 

tering manner 
Fleech'd, supplicated 
Fleechin, supplicating 
Fleesh, a fleece 
Fleg, a kick, a random stroke 
Flether, to decoy by fair wordt 
Fletherin, flattering 
Fley, to scare, to frighten 
Flichter, to flutter, as young 

nestlings when their dam ap- 
proaches 
Flinders, shreds, broken pieces, 

splinters 
Flinging-tree, a piece of timbef 

hung by way of partition be- 
tween two horses in a stable; 

a flail 
Flisk, to fret at the yoke 
Flisket, fretted 
Flitter, to vibrate like the wlng» 

of small birds 
Flittering, fluttering, vibrating 
Flunkie, a sei-vant in livery 
Fodgel, squat and plump 
Foord, a ford 
Forbears, forefathers 
Forbye, besides 
Forfairn, distressed; worn out, 

jaded 
Forfoughten, fatigued 
Forgather, to meet, to encoun* 

ter with 
Forgie, to forgive 
Forjesket, jaded with fatigue 
Fother, fodder 
Fou, full; drunk 
Foughten, troubled, harassed 
Fouth, plenty, enough, or mort 

than enough 
Fow, a bushel, <fec. ; also a pitch 

fork 
Frae, from; oflf 
Frammit, strange, estranged 

from, at enmity with 



GLOSSARY. 



467 



Fraeth, froth 

Frien', friend 

Fu', full , ^ ^^ 

Fud, the scut, or tail of the 

hare, cony, <s;c. 
Fuif , to hlow intermittently 
FuS't, did blow 
Funnie, full of merriment 
Fur, a furrow 
Furm, a form, bench 
Fyke, trifling cares; to piddle, 

to be in a fuss about trifles 
Fyle, to soil, dirty 
Fyl't, soiled, dirtied 

GAB, the mouth; to speak 

boldlv, or pertly 
Gaberlunzie, an old man 
Gadsman, a ploughboy, the boy 
that drives the horses in the 
plough 
Gae, to go; gaed, went; gaen, 

or gane, gone; gaun, gomg 
Gaet. or gate, way, manner; 
ro^d ^ , ^, 

Gairs, triangular pieces of cloth 
sewed on the bottom of a 
gown, &c. 
Gang, to go, to walk 
Gar, to make, to force to 
Gar't, forced to 
Garten, a garter 
Gash, wise, sagacious; talka- 
tive; to converse 
Gashin, conversing 
Gaucy, jolly, large 
Gaud, a plough ^ 

Gear, riches; goods of anykmd 
Geek, to toss the head in wan- 
tonness or scorn 
Ged, a pike 

Gentles, great folks, gentry 
Genty, elegantly formed, neat 
Geordie, a guinea 
Get, a child, a young one 
Ghaist, a ghost 

Gie, to give; gied, gave; gien, 
, given 

GiJtie, dimiQutive of gift 
Giglets, playful gkls 
Gillie, diminutive of gill 
Gilpey, a half grown, half in- 
formed boy or girl, a romping 
lad, a hoiden 
Gimmer, a ewe from one to 

two years old 
Gin, if; against 



Gipsy, a young girl 

Gim, to grin, to twist the fear 

tures in rage, agony, &c. 
Girning, grinning 
Gizz, a periwig 
Glaiket, inattentive, foolish 
Glaive, a sword 
Gawky, half-witted, foohsh, 

romping 
Glaizie, glittering; smooth like 

glass 
Glaum, to snatch greedily 
Glaum' d, aimed, snatched 
Gleck, sharp, ready 
Gleg, sharp, ready 
Gleib, glebe 

Glen, a dale, a deep valley 
Gley, a squint; to squint; a- 

gley, off at side, wrong 
Glib-gabbet, smooth and ready 

in speech 
Glint, to peep 
Glinted, peeped 
Glintin, peeping 
Gloamin, the twilight 
Glowr, to stare, to look; a stare, 

a look 
Glowred, looked, stared 
Glunsh, a frown, a sour look 
Goavan, looking round with a 
strange, inquiring gaze; star- 

Gowan, the flower of the wild 

daisy, hawkweed, &c. 
Gowany, daisied, abounding 

with daisies 
Gowd, gold 

Go^vif, the game of golf: to 
strike as the bat does the ball 
at golf 

Gowff'd, struck 

Gowk, a cuckoo; a term of con- 
tempt 

Gowl, to howl 

Grane, or grain, a groan; to 
groan 

Grain' d and grunted, groaned 
and grunted 

Graining, groaning 

Graip, a pronged instrument 
for cleaning stables 

Graith, accoutrements, fumi 
ture, di-ess, gear 

Grannie, gTandmother 

Grape, to grope 

Graipit, groped 

Grat, wept, shed tears 



468 



GLOSSARY. 



Great, intimate, familiar 
Gree, to agree; to bear the gree, 

to be decidedly victor 
&ree't, agreed 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep 
Greetin, cridng, weeping 
Gripped, catched, seised 
Groat, to get the whistle of 
one's groat, to play a losing 
game 
Grousome. loathsomely grim 
Grozet, a gooseberi-y 
Grumph, a grant; to grunt 
Grumpliie, a sow 
Griin', ground 
Grunstane, a grindstone 
Gruntle, the phiz; a grunting 

noise 
Gnmzie, mouth 
Grushie, thick; of thriving 

grovv1:h 
Gude, the Supreme Being; good 
Guid, good 

Guid-morning, good morrow 
Guid-e'en, good evening 
Guidman and guidwife, the 
master and mistress of the 
house; young guidman, a 
man newly married 
Guid- Willie, liberal; cordial 
Guidfather, guidmother, fath- 
er-in-law and mother-in-law 
Gully, or guliie, a large knife 
Gumlie, muddy 
Gusty, tasteful 

HA', hall 

Ha'-Bible, the great bible that 

lies in the hall 
Hae, to have 
Haen, had, the participle 
Haet, fient haet, a petty oath 

of negation; nothing 
Hallet, the temple, the side of 

the head 
HaiSins, nearly half, partly 
Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses 

and moors 
Haggis, a kind of pudding boil- 
ed in the stomach of a cow 

or sheep 
Hain, to spare, to save 
Hain'd, spared 
Hairst, harvest 
Haith, a petty oath 
Haivers, nonsense, speaking 

without thought 



Hal' or hald, an abiding pi 
Mis 
Halv, holy 



ac6 



Hale, whole, tigii', liealthy 



Hallun, a particular partition 
v/all in a cottage, or more 
properly a seat of turf at the 
outside 

Hallowraass, Hallow-eve, the 
31st of October 

Hame, home 

Hamely, homely, affable 

Han', or haun', hand 

Hap, an outer garment, mantle, 
plaid, &c.; to wrap, to cover; 
to hop 

Hdpper, a hopper 

Happing, hopping 

Hap step an' loup, hop skip 
and leap 

Harkit, hai-kened 

Hara, very coarse linen 

Hash, a fellow that neither 
knows how to dress nor act 
with propriety 

Has tie, dry; chaj)ped; barren 

Hastit, hastenea 

Hand, to hold 

Haughs, low lying, rich lands; 
valleys 

Hdurl, to drag, to peel 

llaurlin, peeling 

Haverel, a half-witted person; 
half-witted 

Havins, good manners, deco- 
rum, good sense 

Hawkie, a cow, properly one 
v/ith a white face 

Heapit, heaped 

Healsome, healthtful, whole- 
some 

Hearse, hoarse 

Hear't, hear it 

Heather, heath 

Hech! oh I strange I 

Hecht, promised; to foretell 
something that is to be got 
or given; foretold; the thing 
foretold; offered 

Heckle, a board in which are 
fixed a number of sharp pins, 
used in dressing hemp, flax, 
&c. 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise 

Helm, the radder or helm 

Herd, to tend flocks; one who 
tends flocks 

Herrin, a herring 



GLOSSARY. 



469 



Herry, to plunder: most pro- 
perly to plunder oirds' nests 

Herryment, plundering, devas- 
tation 

Hersel, herself; also a herd of 
cattle of any sort 

Het, hot 

Heugh, a craig, a coalpit 

Hilch, a hobble; to halt 

Hilchin, halting 

Himsel, himsefl 

Hiney, honey 

Hing, to hang 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to creep 

Hissel; so many cattle as one 
person can attend 

Hitch, a loop, a knot 

Hizzie, a hussy, a young girl 

Hoddin, the motion of a sage 
countryman riding on a cart- 
horse; humble 

Hog-score, a kind of distance- 
line, in curling, drawn across 
the rink 

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse- 
play, by justling with the 
shoulder; to justle 

Hool, outer skin or case, a nut- 
shell; a peascod 

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely 

Hooliel take leisure, stop 

Hoord, a hoard; to hoard 

Hoordit, hoarded 

Horn, a spoon made of horn 

Homie, one of the many names 
of the devil 

Host, or hoast, to cough; a 
cough 

Hostin, coughing 

Hosts, coughs 

Hotch'd, turned topsyturvy; 
blended, mixed 

Houghmagandie, fornication 

Hornet, an owl 

Housie, diminutive of a house 

Hove, to heave, to swell 

Hoved, heaved, swelled 

Howdie, a midwife 

Howe, hollow; a hollow or dell 

Howebackit, sunk in the back, 
spoken of a horse, &c. 

Howff, a tippling house; a 
house of resort 

Howk, to dig 

Howkit, digged 

Howkin, digging 

Howlety an owl 



Hoy, to urge 
Hoy't, urged 
Hoyse, to pull upwards 
Hoyte, to amble crazily 
Hughoc, diminutive of Hugh 
Hurcheon, a hedgehog 
Hurdles, the loins; the crupper 
Hushion, a cushion 

P, in 

Icker, an ear of com 
ler-oe, a great grandchild 
Hk, or ilka, each, every 
Hl-willie, ill-natured, malicious, 

niggardly 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity 
Ingle, fire; fire-place 
Ise, I shall or will 
Ither, other; one another 

J AD, jade; also a familiar term 
among countryfolks for a 
giddy young girl 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle 

Jankin, trifling, dallying 

Jaup, a jerk oi water; to jerk 
as agitated water 

Jaw, coarse railleiy; to pour 
out; to shut, to jerk as water 

Jerkinet, a jerkin, or short 
gown 

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl 

Jimp, to jump; slender in the 
waist; handsome 

Jimps, easy stays 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a cor- 
ner; a sudden turning; a 
comer 

Jinker, that turns quickly: a 
gay sprightly girl; a wag 

Jinkin, dodging 

Jirk, a jerk 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 

Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head 

Jow, to jow, a verb which in- 
cludes both the swinging mo- 
tion and pealing sound of % 
large bell 

Jundie, to justle 

KAE, a daw 

Kail, colewort; a kind of broth 
Kail-runt, the stem of colewort 
Kain, fowls, &c., paid as renl 

by a farmer 
Kebbuck, a cheese 
Keckle, to giggle; to tittar 



470 



GLOSSARY. 



Keek, a peep, to peep 

Kelpies, a sort of mischievous 
spirits, said to haunt fords 
and ferries at night, espe- 
cially in storms 

Ken, to know; kend or kenned, 
knew 

Kennin, a small matter 

Kenspeckle, well known, easily 
known 

Ket, matted, hairy; a fleece of 
wool 

Kilt, to truss up the clothes 

Kimmer, a young gii-1, a gossip 

Kin, Idndred; kin', kind, a-^'. 

King's-hood, a certain part of 
the entrails of an ox, &c. 

Kintra, country 

Kintra cooser, country stallion 

Kim, the harvest-supper; a 
chum 

Kirsen, to christen, or baptize 

Kist, a chest; a shop counter 

Kitchen, any thing that eats 
-with bread; to serve for soup, 
gravy, (fee. 

Kith, kindred 

Kittle, to tickle; ticklish; live- 
ly, apt 

Kittlin, a young cat 

Kiuttle, to cuddle 

Kiuttlin, cuddling 

Knaggie, like knags, or points 
of rocks 

Knap, to strike smartly; a 
smart blow 

ELnappin-hammer, a hammer 
for breaking stones 

Knowe, a small round hillock 

Knurl, a dwarf 

Kye, cows . 

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire 

Kyte, the belly 

Kythe, to discover; to show 
one's self 

LADDIE, diminutive of lad 
La^gen, the angle between the 

side and bottom of a wooden 

dish 
Laigh, low 
Lairing, wading, and sinking 

in snow, mud, &c. 
Laith, loath 

Laithfu'. bashful, sheepish 
Lallans, the Scottish dialect of 

the English language 



Lambie, diminutive of lamb 

Lampit, a kind of shell-fish, a 
limpet 

Lan', land; estate 

Lane, lone; my lane, thy lane, 
&c., myself alone, &c. 

Lanely, lonely 

Lang,*^ long; to think lang, to 
long, to weary 

Lap, did leap 

Lave, the rest, the remainder, 
the others 

Laverock, the lark 

La win, shot, reckoning, bill 

Lawlan, lowland 

Lea'e, to leave 

Leal, loyal, time, faithful 

Lea-rig, grassy ridge 

Lear (pronounced lare), learn- 
ing 

Lee-lang, live-long 

Leesome, pleasant 

Leeze-me, a phrase of congrat- 
ulatory endearment; I am 
happy*^ in thee, or proud of 
thee 

Leister, a three-pronged dai^ 
for striking fish 

Leugh, did laugh 

Leuk, a look; to }ook 

Libbet, gelded 

Lift, the sky 

Lightly, sneeringly; to sneer % 

Lilt, a ballad; a tune; to eing 

Limmer, a kept mistress, a 
strumpet 

Limp't, limped, hobbled 

Link, to trip along 

Linkin, tripping 

Linn, a waterfall; a precipice 

Lint, flax; Lint i' the bell, flax 
in flower 

Lintwhite, a linnet 

Loan, or loanin, the place of 
milking 

Loof , the palm of the hand 

Loot, did let 

Looves, plural of loof 

Loun, a fellow, a ragamufiln,' 
a woman of easy virtue 

Loup, jump, leap 

Lowe, a flame 

Lowin, flaming 

Lowrie, abbreviation of Law- 
rence 

Lowse, to loose 

Lows' d, loosed 



GLOSSARY. 



471 



Lng, the ear; a handle 
Lugget, haying a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden dish 

with a handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese, 

flesh, &c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke; to 

smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 

MAE, more 

Mair, more 

Maist, most, almost 

Maistly, mostly 

Mak, to make 

Makin, making 

Mailen, a farm 

Mallie, Molly 

Mang, among 

Manse, the parsonage house, 
where the minister lives 

Manteele, a mantle 

Mark, marks. (This and seve- 
ral other nouns which in 
English require an s to form 
the plural, are in Scotch, like 
the words sheep, deer, the 
same in both numbers) 

Marled, variegated; spotted 

Mar's year, the year 1715 

Mashlum, meslin, mixed corn 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maud, maad, a plaid worn by 
shepherds, &c. 

Maukin, a hare 

Maun, must 

Mavis, the thrush 

Maw, to mow 

Ma win, mowing 

Me ere, a mare 

Meikle, meickle, much 

Melancholious, mournful 

Melder, com, or grain of any 
kind, sent to the mUl to be 
ground 

Mell, to meddle. Also a mal- 
let for pounding barley in a 
stone trough 

Mel vie, to soil with meal 

Men', to mend 

Mense, good manners, decorum 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impu- 
dent 

Messin, a small dog 



^Midden, a dunghill 

Midden-hole, a gutter at the 
bottom of a dunghill 

Mim, prim, aSectedly meek 

Min', mind; resemblance 

Mind't, mind it; resolved, in- 
tending 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, darkest 

Misca', to abuse, to call names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, un- 
mannerly 

Misteuk, mistook 

Mither, a mother 

Mixtie - maxtie, confusedly 
mixed 

Moistify, to moisten 

Mony, or monie, many 

Moois, dust, earth, the earth ol 
the grave; to rake i' the 
mools, to lay in the dust 

Moop, to nibble as a sheep 

Moorlan', of or belonging t<? 
moors 

]\Iom, the next day, to-morrow 

Mou, the mouth 

Moudiwort, a mole 

Mousie, diminutive of mouse 

Muckle, or mickle, great, 'big, 
much 

Musie, diminutive of muse 

Zvluslin-kail, broth composed 
simply of water, shelled bar- 
ley and greens 

Mutchkin, an English ptat 

Mysel, myself 

NA, no, not, nor 

>iae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale; to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neuk, a nook 

Niest, next 

Nieve, the fist 

Nievefu', handfu 

Niffer, an exchange; to ex- 
change, to barter 

Niger, a negro 

Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman's 
whip 

Nit, a nut 

Norland, of or belonging to the 
north 



472 



GLOSSARY, 



Notic't, noticed 
Nowte, black cattle 

OS of 

Ocliils, name of mountaiiis 

O haite, O faith! an oatli 

Ony, or onie, any 

Or, is often used for ere, before 

Ora, or orra, supernumerary, 

that can be spared 
O't, of it 

Ourie, shivering; drooping 
Oursel, or oursels, ourselves 
Outlers, cattle not housed 
0\vre, over; too 
Owre-hip, a way of fetching a 

blow with the hammer over 

the arm 

PACK, intimate, familiar ; 

twelve stone of wool 
Painch, paunch 
Paitrick, a partridge 
Pang, to cram 
Parle, speech 
Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a 

well-known Scotch dish 
Pat, did put; a pot 
Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff 
Paughty, proud, haughty 
Pauky, or pawkie, cunning, sly 
P^y't, paid; beat 
Pech to fetch the breath snort, 

as in an asthma 
Pechan, the crop, the stomach 
Peelin, peeling, the rind of fruit 
Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c. 
Pettle. to cherish; a plough- 
staff 
Philabegs, short petticoats 

worn by the Highlandmen 
Phraise, fair speeches, flatter}^; 

to flatter 
Phraisin, flattery 
Pibroch, Highland war mu^ic 

adapted to the bagpipe 
Pickle, a small quantity 
Pine, pain, uneasiness 
Pit, to put 

Placad, public proclamation 
Plack, an old Scotch coin, the 

third part of a Scotch penny, 

twelve of which make an 

English penny 
Placid ess, penniless, without 

money 
Piatie, diminutive of plate 



Plew, or pleugh, a plough 

Pliskie, a trick 

Poind, to seize cattle or goods 
for rent, as the laws of Scot- 
land allow 

Poortith, poverty 

Pou, to pull 

Pouk, to pluck 

Poussie, a hare, or cat 

Pout, a poult, a chick 

Pou't, did pull 

Pow, the head, the skull 

Po\vnie, a little horse 

Powther, or pouther, powdei 

Po^vthery, like powder 

Preen, a pin 

Prent, to print; print 

Prie, to taste 

Prie'd, tasted 

Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen; to dispute 

Priggin, cheapening 

Primsie, demure, precise 

Propone, to lay down, to pro- 
pose 

ProvoscB, provosts 

Puddock-stool, a mushroom ; 
fungus 

Pund, pound; pounds 

Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a single 
grain of chaff 

QUAT, to quit 
Quak, to quake 

Quey, a cow from one to two 
3'ears old 



RAGWEED, the herb ragwort 

Kaible, to rattle nonsense 

Itair, to roar 

Raize, to madden, to inflame 

Ram-feezl'd, fatigued; over- 
spread 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward 

Raploch, properly a coarse 
cloth; but used as an adnoun 
for coarse 

Rarely, excellently, very well 

Rash, a rash; rash-bush, a bush 
of rushes 

Ratton, a rat 

Raucle, rash; stout; fearless 

Raught, reached 

Raw, a row 

Rax, to stretch 

Ream, cream ; to cream 



GLOSSARY, 



473 



Reaming, brimful, frothing 

Reave, rove 

Reck, to heed 

Rede, counsel; to counsel 

Red-wat-shod, walking in blood 
over the shoe-tops 

Red-wud, stark mad 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled 

Reek, smoke 

Reekin, smoking 

Reekit, smoked; smoky 

Remead, remedy 

Requite, requited 

Rest, to stand restive 

Restit, stood restive; stunted; 
withered 

Restricked, restricted 

Rew, to repent, to compassion- 
ate 

Rief, reef, plenty 

Rief randies, sturdy beggars 

Rig, a ridge 

Rigwiddie, rigwoodie, the rope 
or chain that crosses the sad- 
dle of a horse to support the 
spokes of a cart; spare, with- 
ered, sapless 

Ri», to run, to melt 

Rionin, running 

Rink, the course of the stones, 
a term in curling on ice 

Rip, a handful of unthreshed 
com 

Riskit, made a noise like the 
tearing of roots 

Rockin, spinning on the rock, 
or distaff 

Rood, stands likewise for the 
plural roods 

Roon, a shred, a border or sel- 
vage 

Roose, to praise, to conmiend 

Roosty, rusty 

Roun', round in the circle of 
neighbourhood 

Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold 

Routhie, plentiful 

Row, to roll, to wrap 

Row't, rolled, wrapped 

Rowte, to low, to bellow 

Rowth, or routh, plenty 

Rowtin, lowing 

Rozet, rosin 

Rung, a cudgel 

Runkled, wrinkled 

Runt, the stem of colewort or 
cabbage 



] Ruth, a woman's name; th# 
j book so called; sorrow 
I Ryke, to reach 

! SAE, so 

Saft, soft 

Sair, to serve; a sore 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely 

Sair't, served 

Sark, a shirt; a shift 

Sarkit, provided in shirt* 

Saugh, the willow 

Saul, soul 

Saumont, salmon 

Saunt, a saint 

Saut, salt, adj, salt 

Saw, to sow 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six 

Scaith, to damage, to Injnrti 
injury 

Scar, a cliff 

Scaud, to scald 

Scauld, to scold 

Scaur, apt to be scared 

Scawl, a scold; a termagant 

Scon, a cake of bread 

Sconner, a loathing; to loathd 

Scraich, to scream as a hen, 
partridge, &c. 

Screed, to tear; a rent 

Scrieve, to glide swiftly along 

Scrievin, gleesomely; swiftly 

Scrimp, to scant 

Scrimpet, did scant; scanty 

See'd, did see 

Seizin, seizing 

Sel, self; a body's sel, one's self 
alone 

Sell't, did sell 

Sen', to send 

Sen't, I, &c. sent, or did send 
it; send it 

Servan', servant 

Settlin', settlin; to get a settlln, 
to be frighted into quietness 

Sets, sets off, goes away 

Shachled, distorted; shapeless 

Shaird, a shred, a shard 

Shangan, a stick cleft at on« 
end for putting the tail of a 
dog, &c., into, by way of mis- 
chief, or to frighten him away 

Shaver, a humorous wag; a bar- 
ber 

Shaw, to show; a small woo4 
in a hollow 



474 



GLOSSARY. 



Sheen, bright, siiining 

Sheep-shank; to think one's self 
nae sheep-shank, to be con- 
ceited 

Sherra-muir, Sheriff-moor, the 
famous battle iou,a:ht in the 
rebellion, A. D. 1715 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a 
sluice 

Shiel, a shed 

Shill, shiiil 

Shog, a shock; a push off at one 
side 

Shool, shovel 

Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shouther, the shoulder 

Shure, did bhear, shore 

Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 

Siller, silver; money 

Simmer, summer 

Sin, a son 

Sin', since 

Skaith. See Scaith 

Skellum, a worthless fellow 

Skelp, to strike, to slap; to 
walk with a smart tripping 
step; a smart stroke 

Skelpie-limmer, a reproachful 
term in female scolding 

Skelpin, stepping, walking 

Skiegh, or skeigh, proud, nice, 
highmettled 

Skinkiin, a small portion 

Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly 

Skirling, shrieking, crying 

Skirl't, shrieked 

Sklent, slant; to run aslant, to 
deviate from truth 

Sklented, ran, or hit, in an ob- 
lique direction 

Skouth, freedom to converse 
without restraint ; range, 
scope 

Skriegh, a scream; to scream 

Skyrin, shining; making a great 
shov/ 

Skyte, force, very forcible mo- 
tion 

Slae, a sloe 

Slade, did slide 

Slap, a gate; a breach in a fence 

Slaver, saliva; to emit saliva 

Slaw, slow 



Slee, sly; sleest, sliest 

Sleekit, sleek; sly 

Siiddery, slippery 

Slype, to fall over, as a wet fuB 
rovv^ from the plough 

Slypet, fell 

Sma', small 

Smeddum, dust, powder; met* 
tie, sense 

Smiddy, a smithy 

Smoor, to smother 

Smoor'd, smothered 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly 

Smytrie, a numerous collection 
of small individuals 

Snapper, to stumble; a stumble 

Snash, abuse. Billingsgate 

Snaw, snow; to snow 

Snaw-broo, melted snow 

Snawie, snowy 

Sneck, snick, the latch of a door 

Sued, to lop, to cut off 

Sneeshin, snuff 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box 

Snell, bitter, biting 

Snick - drawing, trick - contriv- 
ing, crafty 

Snii-tle, to laugh restrainedly 

Snood, a ribbon for binding the 
hair 

Snool, one whose spirit is brok- 
en with oppressive slavery; to 
submit tamely, to sneak 

Snoove, to go smoothly and 
constantly; to sneak 

Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a 
dog, &;c. 

Snow kit, scented, snuffed 

Sonsle, having sweet, engaging 
looks; lucky, jolly 

Soom, to swim 

Sooth, truth, a petty oath 

Sough, a heavy sigh, a sound 
dying on the ear 

Souple, flexible; swift 

Souter, a shoemaker 

Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal; 
the seeds of oatmeal soured, 
&c., flummery 

Sovr[), a spoonful, a small quan- 
tity of anything liquid 

Sowth, to try over a. tune withj 
a low whistle 

Sowther, solder; to solder, to 
cement 

Spae, to prophesy, to divine 

Spaul, a limb 



GLOSSARY, 



475 



Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with 
mire 

Spaviet, having the spavin 

Spean, spane, to wean 

Speat, or spate, a sweeping tor- 
rent, after rain or thaw 

Speel, to climb 

Spence, the country parlour 

Spier, to ask, to inquire 

Spier't, inquired 

Splatter, a splutter, to splutter 

Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch 

Splore, a frolic; a noise, riot 

Sprackle, sprachle, to clamber 

Sprattle, to scramble 

Spreckled, spotted, speckled 

Spring, a quick air in music; a 
Scottish reel 

Sprit, a tough -rooted plant, 
something like rushes 

Sprittie, full of spirits 

Spunk, fire, mettle; wit 

Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery; 
wilx-o'-wisp, or ignis fatuus 

Spurtle, a stick, used in making 
oatmeal pudding or porridge 

Squad, a crew, a party 

Squatter, to flutter in water, as 
a wild duck 

Squattle, to sprawl 

Squeel, a scream, a screech; to 
scream 

Stacher, to stagger 

Stack, a rick of com, hay, &c. 

Staggie, the diminutive of stag 

Stalwart, strong, stout 

Stan, to stand; stan't, did stand 

Stane, a stone 

Stang, an acute pain; a twinge; 
to sting 

Stank, did stink; a pool of 
standing water 

Stap, stop 

Stark, stout 

Startle, to run as cattle stung 
by the gad-fly 

JBtaumrel, a blockhead; half- 
witted 

Staw, did steal; to surfeit 

Stech, to cram the belly 

Stechin, cramming 

Steek, to shut; a stitch 

Steer, to molest; to stir 

Steeve, firm, compacted 

Stell, a still 

Sten, to rear as a horse 

Sten't, reared 



Stents, tribute; dues of any 
kind 

Stey, steep; steyest, steepest 

Stibble, stubble; stibble-rig, the 
reaper in harvest who takes 
the lead 

Stick an' stow, totally, alto- 
gether 

Stfle, a crutch; to halt, to limp 

Stimpart, the eighth part of a 
Winchester bushel 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year 
old 

Stock, a plant or root of cole- 
wort, cabbage, &c. 

Stockin, a stocking; throwing 
the stockin, v/hen the bride 
and bridegroom are put into 
bed, and the candle out, the 
former throws a stocking at 
random among the company, 
and the person whom it 
strikes is the next that will 
be married 

Stoiter, to stagger, to stammer 

Stooked, made up in shocks as 
com 

Stoor, sounding hollow, strong, 
and hoarse 

Stot, an ox 

Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug 
or dish with a handle 

Stoure, dust, more particularly 
dust in motion 

Stowlins, by stealth 

Stown, stolen 

Stoyte, to stumble 

Strack, did strike 

Strae, straw: to die a fair strae 
death, to die in bed 

Straik, did strike 

Straikit, stroked 

Strappin, tall and handsome 

Straught, straight; to straighten 

Streek, stretched, tight; to 
stretch 

Striddle, to straddle 

Stroan, to spout, to piss 

Studdie, an anvil 

Stumpie, diminutive of stump 

Strunt, spinfno'.is liqaor of any 
kind; to v/alk sturdilj^, hufr, 
sullenness 

Stuff, corn or p alse of any kind 

Sturt, tronble; to molest 

Sturtin, frighted 

Sucker, sugar 



476 



GLOSSARY. 



Sud, should 

Sugh, the continued rushing 

noise of wind or water 
Southron, southern; an old 

name for the English nation 
Swaird, sward 
Swall'd, swelled 
Swank, stately, jolly 
Swankie, or swanker, a tight 

strappin young fellow or girl 
Swap, an exchange; to barter 
Swm, to swoon; a swoon 
Swat, did sweat 
Swatch, a sample 
Swats, drink; good ale 
Sweaten, sweating 
Sweer, lazy, averse: dead-sweer, 

extremely averse 
Swoor, swore, did swear 
Swinge, to beat, to whip 
Swirl, a curve; an eddying blast, 

or pool; a knot in wood 
Swirlie, knaggie, full of knots 
Swith, get away 
Swither, to hesitate in choice; 

an irresolute wavering in 

choice 
Syne, since, ago; then 



TACKETS, a kind of nails for 
driving into the heels of shoes 

Tae, a toe; three-tae'd, having 
three prongs 

Tairge, a target 

Tak, to take; takin, taking 

Tamtallan, the name of a moun- 
tain 

Tangle, a sea-weed 

Tap, the top 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish 

Tarrow, to murmur at one's al- 
lowance 

Tarrow't, murmured 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless 
young person 

Tauted, or tautie, matted to- 
gether; spoken of hair or wool 

5'awie, that allows itself peace- 
ably to be handled; spoken 
of a horse, cow, &c. 

Teat, a small quantity 

Teen, to provoke; provocation 

Tedding, spreading after the 
mower 



Ten-hour's bite, a 8"Rg-ht feed to 
the horses wliile in the yoke, 
in the forenoon 

Tent, a field-pulpit; heed, cau- 
tion; to take heed; to tend ol 
herd cattle 

Tentie, heedful, cautious 

Tentless, heedless 

Teugh, tough 

Thack, thatch; thack an' rap«^ 
clothing necessaries 

Thae, these 

Thairms, small guts; fiddle- 
strings 

Thankit, thanked 

Theekit, thatched 

Thegither, together 

Themsel, themselves 

Thick, intimate, familiar 

Thieveless, cold, dry, spited; 
spoken of a person's de- 
meanour 

Thir, these 

Thirl, thriU 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 

Thole, to suffer, to endure 

Thowe, a thaw; to thaw 

Tnowless, slack, lazy 

Thrang, throng, a crowd 

Thrapple, throat, windpipe 

Thrave, twenty-four sheaves or 
or two shocks of com; a con- 
siderable number 

Thraw, to sprain, to twist; tc 
contradict 

Thrawin, twisting, <fec. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted; con- 
tradicted 

Threap, to maintain by dint ol 
assertion 

Threshin, thrashing 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thristle, thistle 

Through, to go on with; to 
make out 

Throuther, pell-mell, confused- 

Thud, to make a loud, Inter 

mittent noise 
Thumpit, thumped 
Thysel, thyself 
TiU't, to it 
Timmer, timber 
Tine, to lose; tint, lost 
Tinkler, a tinker 
Tint the gate, lost the way 
Tip, a ram 



GLOSSARY. 



m 



tippence, twopence 

Tirl, to make a eligM noise; to 
uncover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tither, the other 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tocher, marriage portilon 

Tod, a fox 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk 
of a child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty; to empty 

Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet; a farm-house 

Tout, the blast of a horn or 
trumpet; to blow a horn, &c. 

Tow, a rope 

Towmond, a twelvemonth 

Towzie, rough, shaggy 

Toy, a very old fashion of fe- 
male head-dress 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Transmugrified, transmigrated, 
metamorphosed 

Trashtrie, trash 

Trews, trowsers 

Trickle, full of tricks 

Trig, spruce, neat 

rrinily, excellently 

Trcw, to believe 

Frowth, truth, a petty oath 

fryste, an appomtment; a fair 

Trysted, appointed; to tryste, 
to make an appointment 

Try't, tried 

Tug, raw hide^ D* which in old 
times plougi-'^races were fre- 
quently ro^xJv 

Tulzie, a qvA*'i'el; to quarrel, to 
fight 

Twa, two 

Tw%-t>:e<^^ a few 

•T^TP^, n vould 

T vA^ t\valve; twal-pennie- 
^orth, a small quantity, a 
pennyworth. — N.B. One pen- 
ny English is 12d. Scotch 

T jirin, to part 

Tyke, a dog 

UNCO, strange, uncouth; very, 

very great, prodigious 
Uncos, news 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unsieker, unsure, unsteady 
Unskaith'd,undamaged>unhurt 



Unweeting, unwittingly, un« 

knowingly 
Upo', upon 
Urchin, a hedgehog 

VAP'RIN, vapouring 

Vera, very 

Virl, a riig round a colmniii 

&c. 
Yittle, com of all kinds, food 

WA', wall; wa's, walls 

Wabster, a weaver 

Wad, would; to bet; a bet, a 
pledge 

Wadna, would not 

Wae, wo, sorrowful 

Waefu*, woful, sorrowful, wail- 
ing 

Waesucksl or waes me I alasl O 
the pity 

Waft, the cross thread that 
goes from the shuttle througk 
the web; woof 

Wair, to lay out, to expend 

Wale, choice; to choose 

Waled, chose, chosen 

Walie, ample, large, jolly; also 
an interjection of distress 

Wame, the belly 

Wamefu', a bellyful 

Wanchancie, unlucky 

Wanrestfu', restless 

Wark, work 

Wark-lume, a tool to work with 

Warl, or warld, world 

Warlock, a wizard 

Warly, worldly, eager on amass- 
ing wealth 

Warran, a warrant; to warrant 

Warst, worst 

Warstl'd or warsVd, wrestled 

Wastrie, prodigality 

Wat, wet; I wat, I wot, I know 

Water-brose, bro-e made of 
meal and water simply, with- 
out the addition of milk, 
butter, &c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand 

Wauble, to swing, to reel 

Waught, a draugnt 

Waukit, thickened as fuller! 
do cloth 

Waukrife, not apt to sleep 

Waur, worse; to worst 

Waur't, worsted 

Wean, or weanle, a child 



478 



GLOSSARY, 



VVearie, or weary; many a weary 
body, mp.ny a different persoii 

Weason, ^easand 

Weaving the stocking. Ece 
Stockm, p. 475 

Wee, little; Wee things, little 
ones; W^ee bit, a small matter 

Weel, well; W^eelfare, welfare 

Weet, rain, wetness 

Weird, fate 

We'se, we shall 

Wha, who 

Whaizle, to wheeze 

Whalpit, whelped 

Whang, a leathern string; a 
piece of cheese, bread, &c.; 
to give the strappado 

Whare, where; Whare'er, wher- 
ever 

Wheep, to fiy nimbly, jerk^ 
penny-wheep, small beer 

Wnase. whose 

Whatreck, nevertheless 

Whid, the motion of a hare 
running, but not frighted; a 
lie 

Whiddin, running as a hare or 
cony 

Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, 
crotchets 

Whingin, crying, compiaining, 
fretting 

Whirligigums, useless orna- 
ments, trifling appendages 

Whissle, a whistle; to whistle 

Whisht, silence; to hold one's 
whisht, to be silent 

Whisk, to sweep, to lash 

Whiskit, lashed 

Whitter, a hearty draught of 
liquor 

Whun-stane, a whin-stone 

Whyles, whiles, sometimes 

Wi'; with 

Wieht, wight, powerful, strong; 
inventive; of a superior gen- 
ius 

V/lck, to strike a stone in an 
oblique direction; a term in 
curling 

Wicker, willow (the smaller 
sort) 

Wiel, a small whirlpool 

Wifie, a diminutive or endear- 
ing term for a wife 

Wilyo.rt, bashful and reserved, 
avoiding EOciety or appearing 



awkward in it; wild, strange^ 
timid 

Wimple, to meander 

Wimpl't, meandered 

Wimpiin, waving, meandering 

Win, to win, to winnow 

Win't, winded as a bottom ol 
yam 

Win', wind; Win's, winds 

Winna, will not 

Winncck, a window 

Winsome, heany vaunted, ffay 

AViutle, a staggering motton; 
to stagger, to reel 

Winze, an oath 

Wiss, to wish 

Withoutten, without 

Wizen'd, hide-bound, dried, 
shrunk 

Wonner, a wonder; a con- 
temptuous appellation 

W^ons, dwells 

Woo', wool 

Woo, to couri, to make love to 

Woodie, a rope, more properly 
one made ot withes or willows 

Wooer bab, the garter knotted 
below the knee with a coupL 
of loops 

W^ordy, worthy 

Worsst, worsted 

W^ow, an exclamation of pleas- 
ure or wonder 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex 

Wraith, a spirit or ghost; an 
apparition exactly like a liv- 
ing person, whose appear- 
ance is said to forebode the 
person's approaching death 

"V\ rang, wrong; to wrong 

Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow 

Wud, mad, distracted 

Wumble, a wimble 

Wyle, to beguile 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 

Wyte, blame; to blame 



YAD, an old mare; a worn-out 

horse 
Ye; this pronoun is frequently 

used for thou 
Yearns, longs much 
Yearlings, born in the samt 

year, coevals 
Year is used both for singulai 

Mnd plural years 



GLOSSARY, 



473 



yearn, earn, an eagle, an os- 
pray 

Yell, barren, that gives no milk 

Yerk, to lash, to jerk 

Yerkit, jerked, lashed 

Yestreen, vestemlght 

Yett, a gate, such as is usually 
at the entrance into a farm- 
yard or Held 



Yill, ale 

Yird, earth 

Yokin, yoking; a bout 

Yont, beyond 

Yoursel, yourself 

Yowe, an ewe 

Yowie, diminutive of yowe 

Yule, Christmas 



THE ENB. 



